- token the sporting man. His companions are well-dressed
young men about town.
"Hold on, major," remarks one of the latter, interrupting the stout party in the act of giving an order to the waiter. "I'll buy this round, gentlemen, and we will make it wine. I played in luck to-day."
"So? Cards run well, eh?"
"Never saw them come easier. I had a bit of luck, major, which does not materialize often enough to render poker a continuously profitable employment. I sat between two men who raised the pot four times before the draw, and I filled up a straight flush."
"You stood the raises on a bob flush?"
"I had to. It was open at both ends. Basket of wine, waiter, and fetch it in a hurry," adds the young man, whom his friends call Chauncey, and he gives the waiter a tip that sends him a-flying.
The major smiles as the reminiscences of innumerable interesting jack-pots are stirred up by the story of his young friend's good luck.
"Speaking of straight flushes," he observes, "I never saw a hand fill more neatly or appropriately than during a little game in which I was sitting three or four years ago."
"Story by the major, gentlemen," cries Chauncey, rapping the table to order and receiving the angry glances of a number of people about him who are trying to hear the music. "Here comes the wine. We will drink a toast to all straight flushes, high or low, and then the major shall have the floor."
CHAPTER XX.
A SUPPOSITION BECOMES A FACT.
"You remember when Phil Clark was running up on
Fifth Avenue," begins the major, after the wine has been
brought and pronounced only half-iced.
