I-XI

Late in the night they were still playing
without a change in their positions. Em
still perspired; but Mr. Ottinger no longer
protruded his tongue, a sullen anger was evident in
his every move; Jake's affable flow of conversation
was hushed; Gordon's face set. It was, indisputably,
not funny -- he had won nearly two hundred
dollars. "Make it ten?" Jake queried. The others
nodded. Now Gordon had two hundred and twenty
dollars; an extraordinary, overwhelming luck presided
over his cards, he won more frequently than
the other three together. A tense silence enveloped
the latter: they shuffled, demanded cards, threw
down their hands, in a hurried, disorganized fashion.
They glanced, each at the other, swiftly; it
was evident that a common idea, other than the
game, possessed them. Jake hovered a breath
longer than necessary over the bottle, then pressed
a drink upon Gordon. He refused; this, he recognized,
was not a time for dissipation; he needed
every faculty.

Two hundred and sixty dollars. The air of suppression,
of tension, increased. Gordon's only con-

[[62]]

p061 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p062w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p063

v?