Weber reached out his fat hand as Clancy came near. He patted her arm.
"Stay near me, and bring me luck, Florine."
The game had begun. It was different from any game that Clancy had ever seen. She watched eagerly. Zenda dealt five cards, one to each player, face down. Then he dealt five more, face up.
"You're high," he said to Weber. Clancy noted that Weber's exposed card was a king.
"I'll bet one berry," said Weber. He tossed a white chip toward the center of the table.
"How much is that?" whispered Clancy.
Weber laughed.
"A berry, Florine, is a buck, a seed—a dollar."
"Oh!" said Clancy. Vaguely she felt admonished.
Grannis sat next to Weber. He gingerly lifted the edge of the first card dealt to him and peeked at it. Then he eyed the eight of diamonds that lay face up before him.
"We are here," he announced jovially, "for one purpose—to get the kale in the middle of the table. I see your miserable berry, Ike, and on top of it you will notice that I place four red chips, red being the color of my heart."
Penniman immediately turned over his exposed card.
"I wouldn't like to win the first pot," he said. "It's unlucky."
"How the lads do hate to admit the tingle of yellow!" Weber jeered.
Lallo studied the jack before him.
"Just to prove," he said, "that I am neither superstitious nor yellow, I'll see your two hundred, Grannis."
"I feel the way you do, Lallo," said Zenda. He put five chips, four red and one white, in the middle of the table.
Weber squeezed Florine's hand.
"Breathe luck in my ear, kid," he whispered. Then, louder, he said: "Fooled you with that little berry bet, eh? Well, suckers, we're here for one purpose." He patted the king that lay face up before him with his fat hand. "Did your royal highness think I didn't show the proper respect to your high rank? Well, I was just teasing the boys along. Make it an even five hundred," he said briskly. He pushed four red and three blue chips toward the little pile.
Clancy did some quick figuring. The blue chips must be worth one hundred dollars apiece. It was incredible, ghastly, but—fascinating. Grannis stared at Weber.
"I think you mean it, Ike," he said gently. "But—so do I—I'm with you."
Lallo turned over his exposed card. With mock reproach, he said:
"Why, I thought you fellows were playing. Now that I see you're in earnest——" He winked merrily at Clancy.
Zenda chuckled.
"Didn't know we were playing for keeps, eh, Lal? Well, nobody deceived me. I'm with you, Ike."
He put in his chips and dealt again. When, finally, five cards had been given each remaining player, Grannis had two eights, an ace and a king showing. Weber dropped out on the last card but Zenda called Grannis' bet of seven hundred and fifty dollars. Grannis turned over his "buried" card. He had another king, and his two pair beat Zenda's pair of aces. And Grannis drew in the chips.
Clancy had kept count of the money. Forty-five hundred dollars in red and blue chips, and four dollars in whites. It—it was criminal!
The game now became more silent. Sitting in a big armchair, dreamily wondering what the morrow and her card to Morris Beiner would bring forth, Clancy was suddenly conscious of a harsh voice. She turned and saw pretty Mabel Larkin, Zenda's wife, staring at Weber. Her eyes were glaring.
"I tell you, Zenda," she was saying, "he cheats. I've been telling you so for weeks. Now I can prove it."
Clancy stared at Weber. His fat face seemed suddenly to have grown thin.
"Your wife had better prove it, Zenda," he snarled.
"She'll prove it if she says she will!" cried Zenda. "We've been laying for you, Weber. Mabel, what did he do?"
His wife answered, never taking her eyes from Weber.
"He 'made' the cards for Penniman's next deal. He put two aces so that he'd get them. Deal them, Mr. Penniman, and deal the first card face up. Weber will get the ace of diamonds on the first round and the ace of clubs on the second."
Penniman picked up the deck of cards. For a moment, he hesitated. Then Weber's fat hand shot across the table and tore the cards from Penniman's grasp. There was a momentary silence. Then Zenda's voice, sharp, icy, cut the air.
"Weber, that's confession. You're a crook! You've made over a hundred thousand in this game in the last six months. By God, you'll settle——"
Weber's fat fist crashed into Zenda's face, and the dreamy-eyed director fell to the floor. Clancy leaped to her feet. She saw Grannis swing a chair above her head, and then, incontinently, as Zenda's wife screamed, Clancy fled from the room. She found her coat and put it on. With trembling fingers she opened the door into the corridor and reached the elevator. She rang the bell.
It seemed hours before the lift arrived. She had no physical fear; it was the fear of scandal. If the folks back home in Zenith should read her name in the papers as one of the participants, or spectators, even, in a filthy brawl like this, she could never hold her head up again. For three hours she had been of Broadway; now, suddenly, she was of Zenith.
"Taxi, miss?" asked the polite door-man down-stairs.
She shook her head. At any moment they might miss her up-stairs. She had no idea what might or might not happen.
A block down the street, she discovered that not wearing a hat rendered her conspicuous. A small closed car passed her. Clancy did not yet know that two-passenger cars are never taxis. She hailed the driver. He drew in to the curb.
"Please take me to the Napoli," she begged. "Near Times Square."
The driver stared at her. Then he touched his hat.
"Certainly," he said courteously.
Then Clancy drew back.
"Oh, I thought you were a taxi-man!"
"Well, I can at least take you home," smiled the driver.
She looked at him. They were near an arc-light, and he looked honest, clean. He was big, too.
"Will you?" she asked.
She entered the car. Not a word did either of them speak until he stopped before the Napoli. Then, hesitantly, diffidently, he said,
"I suppose you'd think me pretty fresh if—if I asked your name."
She eyed him.
"No," she said slowly. "But I wouldn't tell it to you."
He accepted the rebuke smilingly.
"All right. But I'll see you again, sometime. And so you'll know who it is—my name's Randall, David Randall. Good-night." She flushed at his smiling confidence. She forgot to thank him as she ran up the stairs into the Napoli.
Safe in her room, the door locked, she sat down on the window-seat and began to search out her plan of action. Little by little, she began to see that she had