The smaller man ostentatiously broke the seal from a new pack of cards,
dexterously spreading them across the table. His hands, Gordon saw, were
extraordinarily supple, and emanated a sickly odor of glycerine. His
companion's were huge and misshapen, but they, too, were surprisingly
deft, quick.

"What'll it be?" Jake demanded; "Jackpots; stud; straight draw--"

"Hell, let's throw cold hands," Mr. Ottinger interrupted, "chop the
trimmings. We're here for the stuff, ain't we?" He was immediately
reprehended for his brusque, unsociable manner.

"He's got the idea, though," Gordon approved; "we're here for the stuff."
It was finally arranged that poker hands should be dealt, a draw allowed,
and the cards shown, the highest cards to take the visible money. "A
dollar a go?" Jake queried, cutting for the deal. On the bed by the
woman's side was a tarnished, silver bag, with an ornate, meretricious
clasp; her two companions produced casual rolls of paper money; and Gordon
detached five dollars from the slender amount of his wage, his paramount
capital. On a washstand, within easy reach, stood the bottle of whisky
flanked by the motley array of drinking vessels.

Gordon Makimmon's five dollars vanished in as many minutes. Oppressed by
consuming anxiety he could scarcely breathe in the close, stale air. Em
gambled with an affectation of careless indifference; she asked in an
off-hand manner for cards; paid her losses with a loud laugh. Jake
invariably gave one rapid glance at his hand, and then threw it down upon
the table without separating his discard. Mr. Ottinger, it was plain, was
superstitious--he edged his hand open by imperceptible degrees until the
denominations of the cards were visible, then hurriedly closed them from
sight; often he didn't look at his draw until all the hands were exposed.
He wrinkled his face in painful efforts of concentration, protruded a
thick and unsavory tongue. At the loose corners of Jake's mouth flecks of
saliva gathered whitely; in the fleering light of the kerosene the shadows
on his face were cobalt. The woman's face shone with drops of perspiration
that formed slowly and rolled like a flash over her plastered skin.

Another round of drinks was negotiated, adding to the fiery discomfort of
the sealed room, of the dry, dead atmosphere. Gordon won back his five
dollars, and gained five more. "Let's make it two a throw," the woman
proposed. The thickset, young man remuttered the period t