"I liffs yo' jess tree dollahs, Toot," said the Reverend Mr. Smith,
getting out the wallet and shaking out a wad.
Mr. Gus Johnson, who had a four flush and very little prudence, came in.
Mr. Whiffles sighed and fled.
Mr. Williams polished the amethyst, thoroughly examining a scratch on
one of its facets, adjusted his collar, skinned his cards, stealthily
glanced again at the expression of the Reverend Mr. Smith's eye, and
said he would "Jess--jess call."
Mr. Whiffles supplied the wants of the gentleman from the pack with the
mechanical air of a man who had lost all hope in a hereafter. Mr.
Williams wanted one card, the Reverend Mr. Smith said he'd take about
three, and Mr. Gus Johnson expressed a desire for a club, if it was not
too much trouble.
Mr. Williams caught another tray, and, being secretly pleased, led out
by betting a chip. The Reverend Mr. Smith uproariously slammed down a
stack of blue chips and raised him seven dollars.
Mr. Gus Johnson had captured the nine of hearts and so retired.
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