The third was a gambler by profession. Neale found himself
in unusually sharp company. He did not have a great deal of money.
So in order to keep clear-headed he did not drink. And he began to
win, not by reason of excellent judgment, but because he was lucky.
He had good cards all the time, and part of the time very strong
ones. It struck him presently that these remarkable hands came
during Hough's deal, and he wondered if the gambler was deliberately
manipulating the cards to his advantage. At any rate, he won
hundreds of dollars.
"Mr. Neale, do you always hold such cards?" asked one of the men.
"Why, sure," replied Neale. He could not help being excited and
elated.
"Well, he can't be beat," said the other.
"Lucky at cards, unlucky in love," remarked the third of the trio.
"I pass."
Hough was looking straight at Neale when this last remark was made.
And Neale suddenly lost his smile, his flush. The gambler dropped
his glance.
"Play the game and don't get personal in your remarks," he said.
"This is poker."
Neale continued to win, but his excitement did not return, nor his
elation. A random word from a strange man had power to sting him.
Unlucky in love! Alas! What was luck, gold--anything to him any
more!
By the time the game was ended Neale felt a friendly interest in
Hough that was difficult to define or explain; and the conviction
gained upon him that the gambler had deliberately dealt him those
remarkable cards.
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