Bodney did not stay to reply. His fever was now so strong that it would have taken two giants to hold him. He fought his way through the crowd, and, panting, rushed into the poker room. They greeted him with the complimentary encouragement usually poured out upon the arrival of the "sucker." "He’ll make you look at your hole card." "Cash my chips." "None of us got any show now." It was nearly dinner time when Bodney sat down to the game, and when the meal was announced he was winner. Goyle came in and sat beside him at the dinner table. "The scheme I spoke to you about is a sure road to fortune," he said, in a low tone. "Bank robbery?" Bodney asked, smiling with the brightness of a winner. "No, it’s not the robbery of the robbers. It is less dangerous and more profitable—almost legitimate." "Almost!" "Yes—but full of sauce." "Don’t you think you’d better tell me what it is?" "Not now. I want to see you alone—tomorrow. In the meantime make up your mind." "How can I make up my mind to do something that hasn’t been proposed?" "Make up your mind to agree to my plan no matter what it may be. We are going to ride in carriages." "Or in a police van, which?" said Bodney, smiling. Goyle put his hand on Bodney’s shoulder. "I see you are in a hurry to get back to the game. All right, but keep your mind on my proposition." "A proposition that hasn’t been made," replied Bodney, getting up from the table. The game was re-forming, for the poker player does not dawdle over a meal; he eats just as a pig does—as fast as he can. It seemed that Bodney’s luck had come to stay. "You make your third man every time," said a losing wretch whose rent was past due. A kindlier eye might have seen through him his ragged children, but the eye of the winner looks at his stack—no poverty and no wretchedness softens its glitter. The offensive fellow was there, sitting to the left of Bodney, but he was not offensive now; defeat had subdued him; and the Professor was present, in the darkness of hard luck, and with his air of mystery. "You either made your hand or you didn’t," he said to a man who had drawn one card. "You ought to know," the man replied, looking at him with a steady eye. "You are a mind-reader." "Yes, when there is a mind to read. I will call you." He did so and lost his money. "You knew what I had in my note," said Bodney. "Don’t you remember, when I met you on the corner? You said it was written with a pencil. Why couldn’t you tell what that man held—whether or not he had made his flush?" "Both science and psychology stop and grow dizzy when they come to cards," the Professor replied. Goyle came in and put his hand on Bodney’s shoulder. "Slaughter ’em," he said. "You’ve got everything coming your way." "But I don’t know how long it will last," Bodney replied.