So we rolled poker dice out of a deep leather dice-cup. Bill was out first roll. Mike lost to me and handed the bartender a hundred-franc note. The whiskeys were twelve francs apiece. We had another round and Mike lost again. Each time he gave the bartender a good tip. In a room off the bar there was a good jazz band playing. It was a pleasant bar. We had another round. I went out on the first roll with four kings. Bill and Mike rolled. Mike won the first roll with four jacks. Bill won the second. On the final roll Mike had three kings and let them stay. He handed the dice-cup to Bill. Bill rattled them and rolled, and there were three kings, an ace, and a queen.
“It’s yours, Mike,” Bill said. “Old Mike, the gambler.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mike said. “I can’t get it.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ve no money,” Mike said. “I’m stony. I’ve just twenty francs. Here, take twenty francs.”
Bill’s face sort of changed.
“I just had enough to pay Montoya. Damned lucky to have it, too.”
“I’ll cash you a check,” Bill said.
“That’s damned nice of you, but you see I can’t write checks.”
“What are you going to do for money?”
“Oh, some will come through. I’ve two weeks allowance should be here. I can live on tick at this pub in Saint Jean.”
“What do you want to do about the car?” Bill asked me. “Do you want to keep it on?”
“It doesn’t make any difference. Seems sort of idiotic.”