Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 99: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Gaston Olaf and Big Business from sight of town. Then Gaston struck a match and looked at - the man on the seat beside him. “Hello,” he said, recognizing the bibulous broker. “Sorry I stepped on your foot.” “?*Sall right, pal, ’sall right,’’ was the re- ply. “You didn’t do me anything; but somebody did do me dirt t’night, and some- body’s goin’ t’ get paid for’t, too. Can’t an’body do me dirt and ge’ ’way with it. N’sir. Ask an’body ‘long Bro’way ’f ol’ Smitty don’ get ” em when they do’m dirt. I’m sore, I am.’ “Well, shut up about it now,” protested one of his companions. ‘‘We’re going out to have a little game. Leave your trouble behind you.” “All right.” The drive in the cold night air was sobering the man a little. “T’ll leave ’em. But I don’t forget. N’sir; never, never forget.” Manchester Jimmy, a thick short man, with a crooked and withered left arm, who was an ex-middleweight and model of the loudest fashions that money could buy, slicked his well-oiled hair down tighter upon his round little head, and smiled a welcome as the new arrivals entered. He received them in the front room of his establishment and looked them over carefully before ad- mitting them into the gambling-room. “Tt’s running for your pleasure, gentle- men,” he said blandly as his little eyes ap- praised each newcomer. “Mr. Thorson, delighted to see you. Mr. Smith, wouldn’t you like a room to lie down awhile?” “No,” said Smith, steadying himself. “Very well, gentlemen.’’ Manchester Jimmy ushered them into the inner room, and, following, closed the door. “Take your pick, gentlemen; the menagerie’s com- plete—stud, tiger, and the busy bee.” Gaston purchased a stack of chips and went straight to the wheel. He lost the stack in five plunging plays and promptly bought another. “Play ’em easier,”’ cautioned a player who was systematically playing the colors and odd oreven. ‘The numbers don’t like you tonight.” “Playing easy isn’t action,” snapped Gas- ton, and plunged the second stack away in a hurry. _ The croupier winked at the cashier as Gaston went for a third stack. “Oh, just hand your money over to the nous and be done,” he said, as the young 97 man continued to plunge. ‘See,’ as he raked in two small bets in succession. ‘““You’re only making me work for it.” “Roll it,” snapped Gaston putting the - remainder of his stack on a single number. “Around and around the little ball goes, boys,” droned the dealer, spinning. “‘It’s easy to beat, if you only guess right. Around, and around, and she’s slowing down.” The croupier with a bored expression reached toward Gaston’s bet ere the wheel had stopped whirling. “Ah!” he drew his stick back. caught it, by George!” Laughingly Gaston scooped the chips into his pocket. ‘“‘That’s fifty ahead on the total play,’ he said. “I wanted a little stake for stud, that’s all.” Three games of stud-poker were running, and Gaston sat down at one of them and began to play savagely. He subscribed to the saying: ““The wheel is a cyclone, but stud is war,” and set himself grimly to the battle. “Take it away from ’em, big feller,’ came a sleepy voice from the corner where Smith had subsided. “You stepped on m/foot, “He but you ain’t the fellow I’m sore at ’tall.’’ “‘Go to sleep, Smitty,” laughed his com- panions. ‘Sall right; go sleep, but I never, never forget.” “‘That’s right,” and the game went on. Gaston played with variable luck at first, but he got what he sought, excitement, for the hands ran high and the other players were skilled and determined. . Gradually, however, luck turned toward him and he forged ahead. Manchester Jimmy slipped about, watching the rake-off, slicking his hair, smiling. “Order refreshments hel you want them, gentlemen,’’ he invited the stud play- ers. ‘They are on the house.” “Go ’way; don’t bother us.” They drove him away from Gaston’s table with good-natured badinage. At the next table the order was given for a bottle of champagne. When the wine had been poured the bottle was dropped on the floor and forgotten. Smith snored, with his head thrown back, a few steps away. At three in the morning, which Gaston had announced as his quitting-time, he was — six hundred dollars ahead. COmicloo C©