CHAPTER III
THE CROOKED DEAL
THE poker game was running eight-handed, which crowded Cap Wright's cabin. Cap could have got a bigger room, and a more comfortable table, but that savored too much of professionalism. Cap detested professional sport; friendly games paid the best; and there was less chance for a holler. Counting from Cap's left, the players were: Shields, Eaton, Spottiswoode, Castelleone, Joe Sloan, Torreale, and the Baron von Reifenstein, military attaché at Washington. Each man had some bank notes in front of him, weighted down by a little stack of sovereigns which jingled merrily on the table. Fortune swung back and forth coquettishly; so far, there seemed little difference in the stacks.
Their jovial game ran on—the men talked of that wonderful little violinist, and her luck in gaining Signorina's championship. A benefit by Signorina would amount to something. Being at the poker table, they spoke with well-bred restraint, and mentioned no names. Reifenstein
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