"I always lose at this game," sighed Joe Pollard.

The door opened, and Phil Marvin and Slim Dugan came back, talking and
laughing together.

"What d'you know about that?" Pollard exclaimed softly. "She guessed
right. She always does! Oughta be a man, with a brain like she's got.
Here we are again!"

He spun the coin; it winked, fell, a streak of light, and again Terry had
won. He began to grow excited. On the next throw he lost. A moment later
his little pile of winnings had disappeared. And now he had forgotten the
face of Joe Pollard, forgotten the room, forgotten everything except the
thick thumb that snapped the coin into the air. The cold, quiet passion
of the gambler grew in him. He was losing steadily. Out of his wallet
came in a steady stream the last of his winnings at Pedro's. And still he
played. Suddenly the wallet squeezed flat between his fingers.

"Pollard," he said regretfully, "I'm broke."

The other waved away the idea.

"Break up a fine game like this because you're broke?" The cloudy agate
eyes dwelt kindly on the face of Terry, and mysteriously as well. "That
ain't nothing. Nothing between friends. You don't know the style of a man
I am, Terry. Your word is as good as your money with me!"

"I've no security--"

"Don't talk security. Think I'm a moneylender? This is a game. Come on!"