"Thank you," said Bodney. "By the way, have you an envelope and stamp?"
He found an envelope, but no stamp. A young woman who had held his telephone for ten minutes had bought the last one. It was of no consequence; Bodney could get one at the next corner. Tearing a scrap of paper out of his notebook and putting it upon a show case, he scribbled a few lines upon it, folded a ten dollar note in the paper, enclosed it in the envelope and directed it to Bradley.
"I guess that ought to be safe enough," he said.
"Well, I’ll risk it. Again let me thank you for your kindness. It isn’t often that I am forced to borrow, and wouldn’t have done so last night but for—"
"Oh, that’s all right. Come in again," he added, as Bodney stepped out. At the next corner he stamped his letter and went out to drop it into a box, but before reaching it was accosted by someone, the Professor whom he had slaughtered in the game.
"For about three minutes—first hand finished me. I see you have a letter there with ten dollars in it."
"Why, that’s marvelous. How do you do it?"
The Professor smiled. "It is the line of my business. Why don’t you come up to my place some time? I can tell you many things."
It flashed through Bodney’s mind that he might tell him many things, and he shrank back from him. "I will, one of these days," he said, and strode off without dropping his letter into the box. He put it into his pocket, intending to stop at the next corner, but forgot it. "Now, what?" he mused. "Believe I’ll go home." He got on a car, but stepped off before it started. He went to a hotel, into the reading room, and took up a newspaper, but found nothing interesting in it. His thoughts were upon the game. In his mind was the red glare of a pat diamond flush. He could see it as vividly as if it had been held before his eye. Was it prophetic? He strolled out, not in the direction of the Wexton Club; but he changed his course, and was soon mounting the stairs. There was no seat, but the man at the desk said that there were enough players to start another game. The game was organized with four regulars, Bodney and another fool. The regulars took twenty dollars’ worth of chips apiece; the two fools took ten, and within ten minutes Bodney was buying more. A man got up from the other table, and Bodney returned to his old seat, where he knew that luck waited for him. The desk man came over to him. "That other gentleman is number one," said he. Just then a new arrival took the seat which Bodney had vacated and number one called out: "Let him go ahead. I’ll stay here." And there, sure enough, was the pat diamond flush. Wasn’t it singular that he should have seen it glowing upon the surface of his mind? And wasn’t it fortunate that the pot was opened ahead of him? He raised and the opener stayed and drew one card. He bet a white chip and Bodney raised. The opener gave him what was termed the "back wash," re-raised. Then the beauty of the flush began to fade. Could it be that the fellow—the very same offensive fellow, who had beaten him before—could have filled his hand? Or, had he drawn to threes and "sized" Bodney for a revengeful "bluff?"