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Shorty Dreams | Jack London | |
Chapter V. |
Page 1 of 2 |
The third night of play, as Smoke laid his first bet, the game-keeper shoved fifteen dollars back to him. "Ten's all you can play," he said. "The limit's come down." "Gettin' picayune," Shorty sneered. "No one has to play at this table that don't want to," the keeper retorted. "And I'm willing to say straight out in meeting that we'd sooner your pardner didn't play at our table." "Scared of his system, eh?" Shorty challenged, as the keeper paid over three hundred and fifty dollars. "I ain't saying I believe in system, because I don't. There never was a system that'd beat roulette or any percentage game. But just the same I've seen some queer strings of luck, and I ain't going to let this bank go bust if I can help it." "Cold feet." "Gambling is just as much business, my friend, as any other business. We ain't philanthropists." Night by night, Smoke continued to win. His method of play varied. Expert after expert, in the jam about the table, scribbled down his bets and numbers in vain attempts to work out his system. They complained of their inability to get a clew to start with, and swore that it was pure luck, though the most colossal streak of it they had ever seen. |
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Smoke Bellew Jack London |
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