single manjack o’ you knows the proposition I’m proposin’. Well?” (Luke looks around real bold.) “Well?
Do
you?”
It was all silence again now, as Luke looks across to Virgil and formulates his offer. “Look, pop. I’ve been mighty lucky tonight, as I think you might agree. So, I’m going to give you the sort o’ chance you’ll never have again. And this is what we’ll do. We’ll have just one last hand and we’ll take two points off my score. Got that? I pick up eighteen—we call it sixteen. And just the same whatever score it is. What do you say, pop?”
But old Virgil—he shakes his head. “You’re a good sport, Luke, but—”
“Let’s make it
three
off then,” says Luke earnestly. “I pick up twenty—we call it seventeen. OK? Look, pop!” (He leans across and grips the wrist again.) “Nobody’s
ever
gonna make you any better offer than that.
Nobody
. You know something? It’s virtually
certain
you’re gonna get all that lovely money right back into that wallet o’ yours, now, isn’t it?”
It was tempting. Ye gods, it was tempting! And it was soon clear that the audience was thinking it was pretty tempting, too, with a good many of them revising their former estimate of things.
“What d’you say?” asks Luke.
“No,” says Virgil. “It’s not just me—it’s Minny here. I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for one night, haven’t I, old girl?”
Then Minny looked at him, straight on, like. A surprising change had come over her tear-stained face, and her blue eyes blazed with a sudden surge of almost joyous challenge. “You take him on, Virgil!” she says, with a quiet, proud authority.
But Virgil still sat there dejected and indecisive. His hands ran across that shock of wavy white hair, and for a minute or two he pondered to himself. Then he decided. He took most of the remaining notes from his wallet, and counted them with lingering affection before stacking them neatly in the centre of the table. “Do you wanna count ’em, Luke?” he says. And it was as if the tide had suddenly turned; as if the old man sensed the smell of victory in his nostrils.
For a few seconds now it seemed to be Luke who was nervy and hesitant, the brashness momentarily draining from him. But the offer had been taken up, and the fifty or sixty on-lookers were in no mood to let him forget it. He slowly counted out his own bills, and placed them on top of Virgil’s.
Two thousand dollars—on one hand.
Luke has already picked up the deck, and now he’s shuffling the spots with his usual, casual expertise.
“Why are
you
dealin’?”
Luke looks up, and stares me hard in the eye. “Was that
you
just spoke, mister?”
I nod. “Yep. It was me. And I wanna know why it is you think you got some goddam right to deal them cards—because you don’t deal ’em straight, brother. You flick ’em off the top and you flick ’em off the bottom and for all I know you flick ’em—”
“I’ll see you outside, mister, as soon as—”
“You’ll do no such thing,” I replies quietly. “I just ain’t goin’ to be outside no more tonight again—least of all for you, brother.”
He looked mighty dangerous then—but I just didn’t care. The skin along his knuckles was growing white as he slowly got to his feet and moved his chair backwards.And then, just as slowly, he sat himself down again—and he surprises everybody. He pushes the deck over the table and he says: “He’s right, pop.
You
deal!”
Somehow old pop’s shaking hands managed to shuffle the cards into some sort of shape; and when a couple of cards fall to the floor, it’s me who bends down and hands them back to him.
“Cut,” says pop.
So Luke cuts—about halfway down the deck (though knowing Lukey I should think it was
exactly
halfway down). Miraculously, it seems, old Virgil’s hands had gotten themselves rid of any shakes, and he deals the cards out firm and fine: one for Luke, one for himself; another for
Do
you?”
It was all silence again now, as Luke looks across to Virgil and formulates his offer. “Look, pop. I’ve been mighty lucky tonight, as I think you might agree. So, I’m going to give you the sort o’ chance you’ll never have again. And this is what we’ll do. We’ll have just one last hand and we’ll take two points off my score. Got that? I pick up eighteen—we call it sixteen. And just the same whatever score it is. What do you say, pop?”
But old Virgil—he shakes his head. “You’re a good sport, Luke, but—”
“Let’s make it
three
off then,” says Luke earnestly. “I pick up twenty—we call it seventeen. OK? Look, pop!” (He leans across and grips the wrist again.) “Nobody’s
ever
gonna make you any better offer than that.
Nobody
. You know something? It’s virtually
certain
you’re gonna get all that lovely money right back into that wallet o’ yours, now, isn’t it?”
It was tempting. Ye gods, it was tempting! And it was soon clear that the audience was thinking it was pretty tempting, too, with a good many of them revising their former estimate of things.
“What d’you say?” asks Luke.
“No,” says Virgil. “It’s not just me—it’s Minny here. I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for one night, haven’t I, old girl?”
Then Minny looked at him, straight on, like. A surprising change had come over her tear-stained face, and her blue eyes blazed with a sudden surge of almost joyous challenge. “You take him on, Virgil!” she says, with a quiet, proud authority.
But Virgil still sat there dejected and indecisive. His hands ran across that shock of wavy white hair, and for a minute or two he pondered to himself. Then he decided. He took most of the remaining notes from his wallet, and counted them with lingering affection before stacking them neatly in the centre of the table. “Do you wanna count ’em, Luke?” he says. And it was as if the tide had suddenly turned; as if the old man sensed the smell of victory in his nostrils.
For a few seconds now it seemed to be Luke who was nervy and hesitant, the brashness momentarily draining from him. But the offer had been taken up, and the fifty or sixty on-lookers were in no mood to let him forget it. He slowly counted out his own bills, and placed them on top of Virgil’s.
Two thousand dollars—on one hand.
Luke has already picked up the deck, and now he’s shuffling the spots with his usual, casual expertise.
“Why are
you
dealin’?”
Luke looks up, and stares me hard in the eye. “Was that
you
just spoke, mister?”
I nod. “Yep. It was me. And I wanna know why it is you think you got some goddam right to deal them cards—because you don’t deal ’em straight, brother. You flick ’em off the top and you flick ’em off the bottom and for all I know you flick ’em—”
“I’ll see you outside, mister, as soon as—”
“You’ll do no such thing,” I replies quietly. “I just ain’t goin’ to be outside no more tonight again—least of all for you, brother.”
He looked mighty dangerous then—but I just didn’t care. The skin along his knuckles was growing white as he slowly got to his feet and moved his chair backwards.And then, just as slowly, he sat himself down again—and he surprises everybody. He pushes the deck over the table and he says: “He’s right, pop.
You
deal!”
Somehow old pop’s shaking hands managed to shuffle the cards into some sort of shape; and when a couple of cards fall to the floor, it’s me who bends down and hands them back to him.
“Cut,” says pop.
So Luke cuts—about halfway down the deck (though knowing Lukey I should think it was
exactly
halfway down). Miraculously, it seems, old Virgil’s hands had gotten themselves rid of any shakes, and he deals the cards out firm and fine: one for Luke, one for himself; another for
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