Part 10 (1/2)

”You make it 'next,' eh?” It was the Englishman who spoke.

”We'll put you through, siree,” said the American, who was a small man, without an atom of superfluous flesh on his bones. His hair stood upright on his head, his dough-coloured face wore a perpetual smile, and he was the happy possessor of a gold eye-tooth with which he constantly bit his moustache. The player who had come to aid him in plucking the pigeon was a big man with a florid complexion and heavy, sensuous features, which, however, wore a good-natured expression.

The game was cut-throat euchre; one pound points. So that each of the three players contributed five pounds to the pool, which lay, gold, silver and bank-notes, in a tempting pile in the middle of the table.

”Left Bower, gen'lemen,” said the digger, placing the Knave of Clubs on the table.

”The deuce!” exclaimed the florid man.

”Can't help you, partner,” said the man with the gold tooth, playing a low card.

”One trick,” said the digger, and he put down the Knave of Spades.

”There's his mate.”

”Right Bower, egad!” exclaimed the big man, who was evidently minus trumps.

The pasty-faced American played the Ace of Spades without saying a word.

”A blanky march!” cried the digger. ”Look-a-here. How's that for high?”

and he placed on the table his three remaining cards--the King, Queen, and ten of trumps.

The other players showed their hands, which were full of red cards.

”Up, and one to spare,” exclaimed the digger, and took the pool.

About fifty pounds, divided into three unequal piles, lay on the table, and beside each player's money stood a gla.s.s.

The florid man was shuffling the pack, and the other two were arranging their marking cards, when the door opened slowly, and the Father of Timber Town, followed by Cathro and Scarlett, entered the room.

”Well, well. Hard at it, eh, Ga.r.s.ett?” said the genial old gentleman, addressing himself to the Englishman. ”Cut-throat euchre, by Jupiter! A ruinous game, Mr. Lichfield,”--to the man with the gold tooth--”but your opponent”--pointing with his stick to the digger--”seems to have all the luck. Look at his pile, Cathro. Your digger friend, eh, Scarlett? Look at his pile--the man's winning.”

Scarlett nodded.

”He's in luck again,” said Mr. Crewe; ”in luck again, by all that's mighty.”

The pool was made up, the cards were dealt, and the game continued. The nine of Hearts was the ”turn-up” card.

”Pa.s.s,” said Lichfield.

”Then I order you up,” said the digger.

The burly Ga.r.s.ett drew a card from his ”hand,” placed it under the pack, and said, ”Go ahead. Hearts are trumps.”

The gentleman with the gold tooth played the King of Hearts, the digger a small trump, and Ga.r.s.ett his turn-up card.

”Ace of Spades,” said Lichfield, playing that card.

”Trump,” said the digger, as he put down the Queen of Hearts.

”Ace of trumps!” exclaimed Ga.r.s.ett, and took the trick.