Part 4 (1/2)

In her room she lit a small lamp, which proved insufficient, and Mr.

Ottinger brought a second from his quarters. Gordon found himself in a long, narrow chamber furnished with two wooden beds, two identical, insecure bureaus, stands with wash basins and pitchers, and a table. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, were resinous yellow pine, and gave out a hot, dry smell from which there was no escape but the door, for the room was without other outlet.

A preliminary drink was indispensable; and, served in two gla.s.ses and a cracked toothbrush mug--Mr. Ottinger elected to imbibe his ”straight” from the bottle--it was drunk with mutual a.s.surances of tender regard. ”Happy days,” the woman p.r.o.nounced. Only three chairs were available, and after some shuffling, appropriate references to ”honest and plain” country accommodations, the table was ranged by a bed on which Em--”Call me Em,”

she had invited Gordon, ”let's be real homelike,”--seated herself.

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--”

”h.e.l.l, let's throw cold hands,” Mr. Ottinger interrupted, ”chop the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. 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 superst.i.tious--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 that they were there for the stuff. ”Otty will have his little joke,” she proclaimed.

”It's not funny,” he protested seriously.

”Two?” Jake demanded of Gordon. The latter nodded.

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 fas.h.i.+on. 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 concern now was to get away, to take the money with him.

Em shuffled in a slipshod, inattentive manner; Mr. Ottinger opened his hand boldly, faced his bad luck with a stony eye; Jake labored under a painful excitement, obviously not connected with his losses; his long, waxy fingers quivered, a feverish point of fire flickered in either cadaverous cheek; his eyes glowed between hollow, sunken temples. ”Four,”

he demanded, with shaking lips. Mr. Ottinger rapped out a request for one.

”I'm satisfied,” Gordon said.

”Don't that sucker beat h.e.l.l!” Em declared, the solicitous manner that, earlier in the evening, had marked her manner toward Gordon, carelessly discarded. ”I'm taking three.” A sudden, visible boredom fell upon her as she glanced at her filled hand. ”Leave us double it,” she remarked. Gordon nodded, and she threw her hand upon the table; it held four nines. She reached her fat, chalky arm toward the money, but Gordon was before her.

”Four queens,” he shot out, grasping the crumpled bills.

Em cursed; then followed a short, awkward silence. It was Ottinger's deal, but he did not pick up the scattered cards. Gordon gathered himself alertly, measuring the distance to the door. ”I've got enough,” he remarked; ”I'm going to quit.”

”You got enough, all right,” Em agreed. ”Now, how'd you like to have a real good time?” She disposed herself upon her elbow, so that the sagging bulk of her body was emphasized through its straining apparel; one leg, incredible, leviathan, was largely visible.

”I've had enough,” Gordon repeated; ”I'll be moving.”