"I've got a hunch, and I'll just see that three thousand."

He wrote the sum on a slip of paper, signed his name, and
consigned it to the centre of the table.

French Louis became the focus of all eyes. He fingered his cards
nervously for a space. Then, with a "By Gar! Ah got not one
leetle beet hunch," he regretfully tossed his hand into the
discards.

The next moment the hundred and odd pairs of eyes shifted to
Campbell.

"I won't hump you, Jack," he said, contenting himself with
calling the requisite two thousand.

The eyes shifted to Harnish, who scribbled on a piece of paper
and shoved it forward.

"I'll just let you-all know this ain't no Sunday-school society
of philanthropy," he said. "I see you, Jack, and I raise you a
thousand. Here's where you-all get action on your pat, Mac."

"Action's what I fatten on, and I lift another thousand," was
MacDonald's rejoinder. "Still got that hunch, Jack?"

"I still got the hunch." Kearns fingered his cards a long
time. "And I'll play it, but you've got to know how I stand.
There's my steamer, the Bella--worth twenty thousand if she's