The woman with the pretty teeth had a pair of aces and three kings, and the old maid had a royal flush. It was a task beside which that of Hercules sunk into ignoble insignificance to explain just why a royal flush was higher than the pairs on which he had just laid such stress, while he had not even mentioned the royal flush at all. He made up his mind that he would not mention a straight even if one turned up every hand. The miserable man was nearly exhausted before they all understood, and he never thought of looking at his own hand at all. The chair where he sat was one of those old-fashioned kind, made of horsehair, and he kept slipping down, and by his gyrations alone anyone could have seen his uneasiness. Finally, after much explanation they got down to a real game. Each got her cards, examined them defiantly and every one bet with a recklessness that had no limit but the amount of beans on hand. The last bean was on the table. After about forty-five different attempts, each prefaced and followed by explanations from the miserable ghost they had drawn and discarded. “I did not need anything more,” said the old lady, “but I thought I might get something better than four aces, so now I will stand squat.” “I—I beg your pardon?” gasped he. “That is what you said, isn’t it, Lavinia? I mean when you have all you want.” “Oh, pat, madam. I said pat.” “If you had meant pat, why did you say squat? Was it meant to confuse me?” “What is trump, please,” said the widow plaintively. “There is no trump in poker, madam,” said Edwards for the twentieth time. The old maid leaned over and whispered confidentially: “I won't play if such favoritism is shown” “Please, dear Mr. Edwards; is mine a good hand?” “I only wish that I might always be sure of holding one as good. Why, madam, it is simply gorgeous—a regular beauty.” “Oh, Mr. Edwards! You naughty man!” “I see everyone and I make it five hundred better and I call,” cried Mrs. Fogg, piling all her beans in a heap and then preparing one end of her shroud to hold her winnings. The big gambler had somehow found a pocketknife and this he jabbed surreptitiously into the chair as a relief to his feelings, while the six women were quarreling over the beans. They appealed to him, and the old lady said: “Mr. Edwards, Mrs. Robinson hasn't anted at all for three hands, and Miss Shookes puts a handful of beans of all colors in the pot every time without counting them.” “Oh, well; she knows that this is only to learn. She wouldn’t do that if it were real money.” “No, indeed; for I was always noted for my prudence about money. That is how I died richer than some folks I know of, who had scarcely enough to pay for their funerals.” “I think, ladies, that you could all show your hands now.” Mrs. Fogg triumphantly put six cards on the table. She had kept one of her discards to make up three pairs. This caused much animated discussion, particularly as Mrs. Washner had four fives.