Well, the usual stallin’ was done, and then the Missus says:
“Maybe you folks’d like to play cards.”
“O’ course not,” I says. “We want to blow soap bubbles.”
“They’s seven of us here,” says Hatch. “Poker’s about the only game seven can play.”
“Oh, I adore poker!” says the bride, gigglin’. “Old sweetheart was learnin’ me the fine points of it last night.”
“Who’s old sweetheart?” I ast her.
“My own husband,” she says. “He told me we might play poker here tonight and he thought I better brush up my game.”
“We don’t play much of a game,” says the Missus. “Just ten-cent chips and a twenty-cent limit, and deuces wild in the jackpots.”
I didn’t make my speech on this occasion, because I’ve noticed that the wilder the deuces is, the wilder the women plays. So I says:
“To make it livelier, why not play nothin’ but jackpots and let the deuces run amuck all evenin’?”
The Missus looked at me like she thought I’d gone crazy.
“I thought that’s just what you didn’t like,” she says.
“I’m willin’ to sacrifice my own preferences,” says I. “I know the majority is against me.”
“I haven’t been in a real game for a long time, myself,” says Quinn, “and probably I won’t play very good. And we can’t afford to lose a whole lot. So, if luck runs against us, you won’t mind if we quit early.”
“Certainly not,” says Hatch.
“No fear,” I says. “You won’t never hear Hatch kickin’ about anybody quittin’, so long as they quit behind.”
We all moved to the dinin’ room table. Two chairs was brought in from the parlor and one from the kitchen, so’s none o’ the guests would have to stand. Proceedin’s was delayed while Cutie examined the wall paper and furniture.
“I think your apartment is dear!” she says.
“Thirty-five a month,” says I.
“Is that all!” she says. “Why, I and old honey boy could pretty near afford that.”
“But then you’d be left alone all day,” I says.
“Mother’d come over and stay with me,” she says; “and then, when it was time for old sweetheart to get back from the horrid old office, I’d send mother away so’s I could be alone with him.” She giggled some more.
“What are you laughin’ at?” I says. “I’m alone with him pretty near an hour every day and it’s no joke.”
“I’m afraid you’re a tease,” she says, and laughed so hard that she had to set down.
Hatch was passin’ out the checks.
“The usual number, eh?” he says.
“How many do you generally take?” ast Quinn.
“Twenty apiece; two dollars’ worth,” says Hatch.
“Mercy!” says Mrs. Quinn. “We don’t want that many. Dearie,” she says to her husband, “let’s just take twenty between us.”
So the Quinns’ original investment was two dollars, and so was Tuttle’s; while I and Hatch give up four each for ourself and lady.
“Remember, it’s all jacks,” I says, “and everybody’s got to ante every time.”
But when Tuttle started dealin’ they was only six checks in the center.
“Somebody decorate the mahogany,” says Hatch, just as if he didn’t know his wife was the slacker.
She happened to be busy smoothin’ her hair at the time and, o’ course, didn’t hear.
I didn’t have no deuce or nothin’, so I stayed out o’ the first pot. Mrs. Hatch tossed her cards face down, as usual. Quinn and his wife was settin’ next to each other, so’s they could hold hands durin’ the lulls. It was his turn after Mrs. Hatch, and he opened the pot.
“Oh, look, dearie!” says Marion. “I’ve got two tens and a jack and two deuces. Is that any good?”
“It’s good enough for me,” says Hatch, and throwed down a pat straight, face up.
My Missus and Tuttle passed, and Quinn gracefully yielded the pot to his bride.
“Goody!” she says, gigglin’. “Let’s see! I got eight checks more than I started with. That’s eighty cents. What can I get with eighty cents? Some stockin’s, maybe, if they’s a sale.”
“You might of got some for yourself and your husband, both,” I says, “if you hadn’t called your hand before Hatch had a chance to come in.”
“Didn’t I play right, dearie?” she says to Quinn.
“Sure, you did, dearie,” he says. “We don’t want to break nobody.”
“Wait,” I says to myself, “till they begin losin’ and he won’t take it so cheerful.”
It was my deal and again the pot was a dime shy.
“If somebody’s got to hold out their ante every time,” says I, “I should think it ought to be the host. I’m the baby that’s got to pay for the electric lights and the wear and tear, and the refreshments the Missus has cooked up.”
“Maybe I’m shy,” says Tuttle, winkin’ at me.
“I know I put in,” says Mrs. Hatch.
“That was last month,” I says.
“I don’t remember if I anteed or not,” says my Missus, and what does she do but come in again. And Mrs. Hatch never batted an eye.
Quinn opened this one.
“Shall I stay, dearie?” his honey girl ast him.
“I can’t advise you,” he says. “I’m in it myself.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you was in it,” she says. “O’ course I ain’t goin’ to play against my old sweetheart.”
She laid ’em down, face up. It was one o’ these here jump straights. You couldn’t of mad a hand out of it if you’d drawed seven cards.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Quinn,” says I; “but, if old sweetheart hadn’t been in, what was you goin’ to hold up?”
“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
