This time he followed up three of a kind to his doom.

There was a better hand across the table, held by a pugnacious Irish youth, who was a political hanger-on of the Tammany district in which they were located.

Hurstwood was surprised at the persistence of this individual, whose bets came with a sangfroid which, if a bluff, was excellent art.

Hurstwood began to doubt, but kept, or thought to keep, at least, the cool demeanor with which, in olden times, he deceived those psychic students of the gaming table, who seem to read thoughts and moods, rather than exterior evidences, however subtle.

He could not down the cowardly thought that this man had something better and would stay to the end, drawing his last dollar into the pot, should he choose to go so far.