stand in a tight-packed mass watching him than to make their own smaller bets. And also, as before, Rice moved up close to his side.
"I said I'd stake you," said Steele. "How much, Bill?"
"One chip; Pete'll give me regular value chips for two hundred bones for it."
The chip passed into Rice's hands, was shoved to the dealer and honoured with other tall stacks. The ball was rolling; Steele leaned forward and placed his first bet. It was one chip, two hundred dollars, on number five. Rice accompanied it with the venture of four dollars.
"That's my pro ratty!" grinned Rice.
While the first play was in progress Joe Embry came forward through a back door and took his former place near the end of the bar, whence he could watch. Chewing at his cigar, he looked placid and cool, though there was unusual lustre to his black eyes. The dealer called for a glass of mineral water and settled down to alert attention to business. The lookout sat with his right hand lost under his coattail.
"Twenty-six," remarked the dealer when the ball stopped, touching the lucky square of the table with a finger tip, drawing in two hundred and four dollars and setting the ball spinning.
Men craned their necks to see the next play, seeking to know if Steele were playing a "system." His answer was another bet on number five, this time for four hundred dollars.
"Doubles each time," commented a long, yellow
