“The seven and the nine,” she says. “We lived out on Seventy-ninth Street up to two years ago.”
Well, Hatch raised and the Missus and Tuttle and I all passed. Quinn raised Hatch right back. Hatch stood it and Quinn said he didn’t want no cards. Hatch took two. Quinn bet twenty cents and Hatch passed. Three jacks was what he throwed down. Quinn took the pot; and we wouldn’t of thought nothin’ of it, only Mrs. Quinn insisted on seein’ what Harry had. She looked ’em over carefully.
“What is it?” she says.
“A straight,” says Quinn.
“Oh, yes; sure!” she says, and showed ’em to all of us.
It wasn’t no more straight than a rabbit. Ace, deuce, four, five and six; that’s what she showed us.
I wish you could of seen Hatch. He went up a mile.
“Great stuff!” he says. “Very foxy! But you won’t get away with that very often. Wait a minute!” he says. “You couldn’t even open the pot.”
“Oh, yes, he could!” says I. “He had a pair of aces.”
“I thought sure I had a straight,” says Quinn. “I told you I was all out o’ practice.”
“Shut up!” says Hatch. “You thought nothin’!”
“Never mind the way he talks,” I says to Quinn. “He’s just jokin.”
“If I done somethin’ wrong, let’s play it over,” says Quinn; and that made Hatch all the sorer.