At eleven o’clock I still had my temper and about ninety cents. At three minutes after eleven I didn’t have neither.
It was Mrs. Quinn’s deal. Hatch opened. I set there with four cold treys. My Missus stayed and Tuttle stayed, and I raised twenty cents. Mrs. Hatch and the bride and groom passed. Hatch raised me back and the Missus dropped out. Tuttle stuck and I raised again. We raised a couple o’ times more. Then Hatch called me.
He was pat. I ast for one. Hatch bet me twenty cents and I was just goin’ to come back at him when I happened to look at my hand. I had six cards; the world’s greatest wife had wrecked me with two cards when I called for one!
I guess I probably raved. I didn’t light into the guests of honor. That wouldn’t of been polite. But what I said to the Missus and Hatch and Tuttle and Mrs. Hatch was ample. And Hatch and Tuttle egged me on.
“Your own fault!” says Hatch. “You ought to of protected your hand.”
“You was a sucker to draw at all,” says Tuttle. “It’d of been poker to of stood pat.”
“You’re a fine team to tell anybody how to play poker!” says I. “You,” I says to Tuttle, “you got as much license to win in any game o’ skill as I have to play Hamlet. And you,” I says to Hatch, “you wouldn’t never break even, only for your wife goin’ shy in every pot.”
“Don’t talk like that, dearie,” says the Missus.
“And don’t you call me ‘dearie’!” I says. “The best thing you can do is keep still!”
I said a whole lot more; and when I got through, Mrs. Quinn was laughin’ herself hoarse. Her bein’ a stranger was all that saved her from a spankin’.