Knavery was Slavin's style, but apparently he was now playing a
straight game, no doubt realizing clearly, behind his impassive mask of
a face, the utter futility of seeking to outwit one of Hampton's
enviable reputation.
It was, unquestionably, a fairly fought four-handed battle, and at
last, thoroughly convinced of this, Hampton settled quietly down,
prepared to play out his game. The hours rolled on unnoted, the men
tireless, their faces immovable, the cards dealt silently. The stakes
grew steadily larger, and curious visitors, hearing vague rumors
without, ventured in, to stand behind the chairs of the absorbed
players and look on. Now and then a startled exclamation evidenced the
depth of their interest and excitement, but at the table no one spoke
above a strained whisper, and no eye ventured to wander from the board.
Several times drinks were served, but Hampton contented himself with a
gulp of water, always gripping an unlighted cigar between his teeth.
He was playing now with apparent recklessness, never hesitating over a
card, his eye as watchful as that of a hawk, his betting quick,
confident, audacious.
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