“Oh, that’s all right,” answered Chester. “Paper’s good amongst friends; eh, Guy?” “Good as gold; especially Phil’s. I must decline, however, to take any of your I. O. U.’s, Joe; I’m a burned child, my boy.” Boerick grinned, but did not relish Chester’s laughter. “If I owe you anything――――” he began. “You don’t, Joe,” answered Guy. “You always pay up in the end. The trouble is your ends are so darned long coming! Your ante, Phil.” For the next half-hour Phillip, as a result of careful playing, managed to hold his own. Boerick indulged in a number of sarcasms at his expense, and Phillip wished that he had enough money to accept the frequent challenges. But he kept his temper and his six dollars and was congratulating himself upon the fact when Chester called for a jackpot. At the end of the fifth deal the little pile in the centre of the board had assumed quite generous proportions, while Phillip’s capital had dwindled sadly. Luck, however, was with him, for Chester opened, and Phillip, with all the courage of ignorance, drew to a flush and filled. Guy dropped out and Chester followed a moment later, leaving Phillip and Boerick to fight it out. Phillip was quite in the dark as to what manner of hand his adversary held, but he met each raise until two real and twelve mythical dollars lay in the pot. It is probable that he would have kept on until midnight had he not glanced up to find a warning look on Chester’s face. Then he called and a moment later was drawing his winnings toward him. Boerick’s hand had consisted of two pairs, aces and fours. “These Virginians!” sighed Guy. Boerick looked angry. Like all who pride themselves on their ability to play poker, he hated to lose――especially to Phillip, who was the veriest novice. He gathered up the cards and remarked sneeringly: “It’s sometimes better to be lucky than to know how, eh, Ryerson?” “I reckon you’re the one who is in luck,” answered Phillip. “If I hadn’t taken pity on you and called you’d have lost a heap more than you did.” “Now will you be good?” asked Chester. “Well, next time don’t mind my feelings,” replied Boerick, ungraciously. “I like to lose to folks who need the money.” “Thanks.” Phillip smiled over at him sweetly. “I’ve heard you were a bit of a philanthropist.” Guy and Chester laughed loudly. Boerick’s money seldom aided any one save Boerick. “Well, it’s about my bedtime, fellows,” announced Guy. “We’ll play one more round.” “Jackpots,” suggested Chester. “I’ve got to get back some of the stuff I’ve lost to you dubs or I’ll be on half-rations for a week.” “Jackpots it is,” answered Guy. “Deal the cards, my philanthropic Joseph.” During the next three rounds Phillip’s winnings dwindled until only a trifle over his original six dollars remained beside him. But on the fourth fortune seemed to favour him again. It was Chester’s deal and Boerick opened for half a dollar. “Cards?” he asked. Guy shook his head solemnly. “Perish the thought!”