The Last Stake: A Gambler's Ruin at a Seattle Card Table

He sauntered in when the deal was done, locating the 'tie lot turn,' and carelessly asked which cards had won with a sporty unconcern. 'I call it to come four-fives,' he said as he threw down a well-worn ten. The man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. The glittering air of a sport he bore, from his checked, rib-tared coat, and his hat which still his nose he wore, to the gem in his necktie placed. It ruddily gleamed from his blanket tie; oh, its light was a sight to see—the man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. 'Twas over an inch and a quarter long, that gem with its lustrous light, and all around in a glittering throng were jewels of radiance bright. The sports who basked in its crimson ray with envious looks were free—the man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. The cards slid under the dealer's hand; four-five—he had guessed aright. And he smiled a smile that was soft and bland, as the last card met his sight. And the pang that bearded the tiger bold applauded his luck to see; the man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. His hat assumed a more rakish tilt as he scooped the red chips won. And he said he reckoned he'd make things wilt before the seance was done. 'I called the turn seven times last night,' he said, as he grinned with glee. The man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. The air was full of the tiger's fur, for he played from the box's top. Evens to win and odds to lose, and caught 'em at every flop. He played the limit at every bet. Oh, his luck was a sight to see—the man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. His chips piled skyward in lofty stacks (he had most of the blue and the red); depleted and lone looked the empty racks, and the dealer shook his head. The owner loitered behind his chair and sighed most piteously—the man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. He worked his jaw in a way sublime till the sports grew somewhat worn; he said: 'Cold nerve won every time'—of the 'piker' he spoke with scorn; he passed his remarks for the good of the house, with a voice in the highest key—the man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. But right in the midst of his merriest mood he was 'split' on a big red stack. And 'stood off,' too, and 'whipsawed' then on a turn that came tray-jack. Then stack after stack went glimmering hence, and with them his careless glee; the man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. His last stack dwindled and sunk away till he lost the last lone red. Then nervously threw down the priceless gem, 'I put up the stone,' he said. The dealer doubtfully looked it o'er, then tossed off white chips three. The man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he. He staked the price of the blood-red gem, but the luck against him ran. And he lost the chips with a hollow moan, then arose, a 'busted' man. As he slunk by his friend, the hazard fiend, he struck him for 'just five c.' The man in the lookout sized him up, but never a word spake he.