I'll sit up, I'm not tired."
But Monty swore a very profane and a very ugly oath.
"I'll have the lot," he muttered. "Every drop; every d - d drop!
Ay, and I'll keep the picture. You see, my friend, you see; deal
the cards."
Then Trent, who had more faults than most men, but who hated bad
language, looked at the back of the photograph, and, shuddering,
hesitated no longer. He shuffled the cards and handed them to
Monty.
"Your deal," he said laconically. "Same as before I suppose?"
Monty nodded, for his tongue was hot and his mouth dry, and speech
was not an easy thing. But he dealt the cards, one by one with
jealous care, and when he had finished he snatched upon his own,
and looked at each with sickly disappointment.
"How many?" Trent asked, holding out the pack. Monty hesitated,
half made up his mind to throw away three cards, then put one upon
the table. Finally, with a little whine, he laid three down with
trembling fingers and snatched at the three which Trent handed him.
His face lit up, a scarlet flush burned in his cheek. It was
evident that the draw had improved his hand.
Trent took his own cards up, looked at them nonchalantly, and helped
himself to one card. Monty could restrain himself no longer. He
threw his hand upon the ground.
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