“Was it my fault she turned it?” says Tuttle.
“It don’t make no difference whose fault it was,” Hatch says. “The card was turned and you can’t take it.”
“I’m goin’ to take it,” says Tuttle.
“You take it and I quit,” says Hatch.
“I should worry if you quit!” says Tuttle. “You’re always makin’ up rules. You think you run every game you’re in; but you can’t run me.”
“Quinn,” I says, “I warned you this was just a little friendly game.”
Well, the pair o’ them almost come to blows; but finally Hatch convinced him that he couldn’t take the card. We’d always played that way.
And then what does Mrs. Quinn do but turn over another one; and it was another heart!
Ten minutes’ intermission, durin’ which Tuttle got his hat on and started home, and had to be coaxed back. The card he finally got was a club and Quinn copped the pot.
“I and the little girl’s certainly goin’ some,” he says. “I guess we’re rotten at this game!”
“Your guess is right!” says Tuttle. “You play like a boob, you and your wife both!”
Quinn give him a maddenin’ smile and sweetheart made it worse by gigglin’.
Mrs. Hatch lost her head on the next one and opened it for twenty cents, half cash. The Quinns couldn’t stick and the rest of us faded away. They’s no use participatin’ when Mrs. Hatch opens. If they’s anything better’n a royal flush, she’s got it.