As a matter o’ cold facts, Quinn did think he had a straight. If Hatch had been as well acquainted with him as I was, he’d of knew he was incapable o’ trick stuff. Him and brains ain’t even stepbrothers.
On the next deal Mrs. Hatch passed out the whole fifty-two cards before we could stop her. When she mixed ’em up for another try, half o’ them was facin’ one way and half the other. She got ’em straightened out and then dealt only five hands. All o’ which added to her husband’s enjoyment o’ the evenin’. But we always allow for six minutes’ rest when she’s dealin’ and if her husband’s a winner he don’t notice the delay. But now he says:
“What the devil’s got into you? You better get a basket! You deal like you do everything else!”
“I told you this was just a friendly game,” says I to Quinn.
“You’re gettin’ smart too!” says Hatch to me.
“Listen, Jim!” I says. “Just because the kid made you lay down the best hand, with a little strategy, you don’t have to contract the hydrophobia and endanger the lives of hundreds o’ men, women and children. Didn’t you never run a bluff yourself?”
“Mind your own business!” says Hatch; and I could see that his wife was goin’ to have a pleasant trip home.
I don’t remember what happened when she finally did get seven hands dealt out right. But I do remember what come off on Quinn’s deal. I ought to.
Sweetness opened under the gun. My Missus and Tuttle stayed, and I tilted her with a four-straight flush. Mrs. Hatch was busy suppressin’ her tears and Quinn didn’t have nothin’. Mrs. Quinn just lingered, and so did the Missus and Tuttle.