The game began at eight o'clock, and by nine and a series of two-pair hands and bull luck Mr. Gus Johnson was seven dollars and a nickel ahead of the game, and the Reverend Mr. Thankful Smith, who was banking, was nine stacks of chips and a dollar bill on the wrong side of the ledger. Mr. Cyanide Whiffles was cheerful as a cricket over four winnings amounting to sixty-nine cents; Professor Brick was calm, and Mr. Tooter Williams was gorgeous and hopeful, and laying low for the first jackpot, which now came. It was Mr. Whiffles's deal, and feeling that the eyes of the world were upon him, he passed around the cards with a precision and rapidity which were more to his credit than the I.O.U. from Mr. Williams which was left over from the previous meeting. Professor Brick had nine high and declared his inability to make an opening. Mr. Williams noticed a dangerous light come into the Reverend Mr. Smith's eye and hesitated a moment, but having two black jacks and a pair of trays, opened with the limit. "I liffs yo' jess tree dollahs, Toot," said the Reverend Mr. Smith, getting out the wallet and shaking out a wad. Mr. Gus Johnson, who had a four flush and very little prudence, came in. Mr. Whiffles sighed and fled. Mr. Williams polished the amethyst, thoroughly examining a scratch on one of its facets, adjusted his collar, skinned his cards, stealthily glanced again at the expression of the Reverend Mr. Smith's eye, and said he would "Jess--jess call." Mr. Whiffles supplied the wants of the gentleman from the pack with the mechanical air of a man who had lost all hope in a hereafter. Mr. Williams wanted one card, the Reverend Mr. Smith said he'd take about three, and Mr. Gus Johnson expressed a desire for a club, if it was not too much trouble. Mr. Williams caught another tray, and, being secretly pleased, led out by betting a chip. The Reverend Mr. Smith uproariously slammed down a stack of blue chips and raised him seven dollars. Mr. Gus Johnson had captured the nine of hearts and so retired. Mr. Williams had four chips and a dollar left. "I sees dat seven," he said impressively, "an' I humps it ten mo'." "Whar's de c'lateral?" queried the Reverend Mr. Smith calmly, but with aggressiveness in his eye. Mr. Williams sniffed contemptuously, drew off the ring, and deposited it in the pot with such an air as to impress Mr. Whiffles with the idea that the jewel must have been worth at least four million dollars. Then Mr. Williams leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Whad yer goin' ter do?" asked the Reverend Mr. Smith, deliberately ignoring Mr. Williams's action. Mr. Williams pointed to the ring and smiled. "Liff yo' ten dollahs." "On whad?" "Dat ring." "_Dat_ ring?" "Yezzah." Mr. Williams was still cool.