Manhattan Noir 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

anything with the name of loss attached to it sliced the old man’s heart into sections.
    At midnight, Archie Bracketts, the actor, came into the room. “How you holding ’em, Bob?” said he.
    “Pretty well,” said Bob.
    “Having any luck, Mr. Spuytendyvil?”
    “Blooming bad,” grunted the old man.
    Bracketts laughed and put his foot on the round of Spuytendyvil’s chair. “There,” said he. “I’ll queer your luck for you.” Spuytendyvil sat at the end of the table. “Bobbie,” said the actor presently, as young Cinch won another pot, “I guess I better knock your luck.” So he took his foot from the old man’s chair and placed it on Bob’s chair. The lad grinned good-naturedly and said he didn’t care.
    Bracketts was in a position to scan both of the hands. It was Bob’s ante and old Spuytendyvil threw in a red chip. Everybody passed out up to Bobbie. He filled in the pot and drew a card.
    Spuytendyvil drew a card. Bracketts, looking over his shoulder, saw him holding the ten, nine, eight, and seven of diamonds. Theatrically speaking, straight flushes are as frequent as berries on a juniper tree but as a matter of truth the reason that straight flushes are so admired is because they are not as common as berries on a juniper tree. Bracketts stared; drew a cigar slowly from his pocket, and, placing it between his teeth, forgot its existence.
    Bobbie was the only other stayer. Bracketts flashed an eye for the lad’s hand and saw the nine, eight, six, and five of hearts. Now there are but six hundred and forty-five emotions possible to the human mind, and Bracketts immediately had them all. Under the impression that he had finished his cigar, he took it from his mouth and tossed it toward the grate without turning his eyes to follow its flight.
    There happened to be a complete silence around the green-clothed table. Spuytendyvil was studying his hand with a kind of contemptuous smile, but in his eyes there perhaps was to be seen a cold, stern light expressing something sinister and relentless.
    Young Bob sat as he had sat. As the pause grew longer, he looked up once inquiringly at Spuytendyvil.
    The old man reached for a white chip. “Well, mine are worth about that much,” said he, tossing it into the pot. Thereupon he leaned back comfortably in his chair and renewed his stare at the five straight diamonds. Young Bob extended his hand leisurely toward his stack. It occurred to Bracketts that he was smoking, but he found no cigar in his mouth.
    The lad fingered his chips and looked pensively at his hand. The silence of those moments oppressed Bracketts like the smoke from a conflagration.
    Bobbie Cinch continued for some moments to coolly observe his cards. At last he breathed a little sigh and said, “Well, Mr. Spuytendyvil, I can’t play a sure thing against you.” He threw in a white chip. “I’ll just call you. I’ve got a straight flush.” He faced down his cards.
    Old Spuytendyvil’s roar of horror and rage could only be equaled in volume to a small explosion of gasolene. He dashed his cards upon the table. “There!” he shouted, glaring frightfully at Bobbie. “I’ve got a straight flush, too! And mine is Jack high!”
    Bobbie was at first paralyzed with amazement, but in a moment he recovered and apparently observing something amusing in the situation he grinned.
    Archie Bracketts, having burst his bond of silence, yelled for joy and relief. He smote Bobbie on the shoulder. “Bob, my boy,” he cried exuberantly, “you’re no gambler but you’re a mighty good fellow, and if you hadn’t been you would be losing a good many dollars this minute.”
    Old Spuytendyvil glowered at Bracketts. “Stop making such an infernal din, will you, Archie,” he said morosely. His throat seemed filled with pounded glass. “Pass the whiskey.”

THE FURNISHED ROOM
    BY O. H ENRY
    L ower W est S ide
    (Originally published in 1906)
    Restless, shifting, fugacious as time itself is a certain vast