“Well, I’ma hundred and fifty to the bad,” Wi
sor announced miserably, “but I Ve got to go.
I don’t hit that eccy, I’m going to be out* of luck
He shoved back his chair. “I hate like hell 1
leave; but I promised Hugh that I’d leave wil
him at eleven, and I’ve got to do it.”
Allen had been quite indifferent when Hugh sa that he was leaving. Hugh was obviously srm money, and Allen had no time to waste on chicke feed, but Winsor was a different matter.
“You don’t want to go, George, when you ’re the hole. Better stick around. Maybe you ’ll w it back. Your luck can’t be bad all night.”
“You ’re right,” said Winsor, stretching mightil “It can’t be bad all night, but I can’t hang aroui all night to watch it change. You’re welcome the hundred and fifty, Ted, but some night so< I’m coming over and take it away from you.”
Allen laughed. “Any time you say, George.”
Hugh and Winsor settled their accounts, th stood up, aching and weary, their muscles cramp from three hours of sitting and nervous tensh They said brief good nights, unlocked the door they heard Allen lock it behind them—and h their disgruntled friends, glad to be out of t noisome odor of the room.
“God, what luck!” Winsor exclaimed as th started down the hall. “I’m off Allen for go( That boy wins big pots too regularly and alw;
