"Dat is gut!--haw! haw!" snorted the Baron. "Hook him! Lieber Himmel,
you might dry and hook me as well. Haw! haw!"
Well, we went to play. "Five to four on Coxe," screams out the
Count.--"Done and done," says another nobleman. "Ponays," says the
Count.--"Done," says the nobleman. "I vill take your six crowns to
four," says the Baron.--"Done," says I. And, in the twinkling of an eye,
I beat him once making thirteen off the balls without stopping.
We had some more wine after this; and if you could have seen the long
faces of the other noblemen, as they pulled out their pencils and wrote
I.O.U.'s for the Count! "Va toujours, mon cher," says he to me, "you
have von for me three hundred pounds."
"I'll blay you guineas dis time," says the Baron. "Zeven to four you
must give me though." And so I did: and in ten minutes THAT game was
won, and the Baron handed over his pounds. "Two hundred and sixty more,
my dear, dear Coxe," says the Count: "you are mon ange gardien!" "Wot a
flat Misther Coxsh is, not to back his luck," I hoard Abednego whisper
to one of the foreign noblemen.
"I'll take your seven to four, in tens," said I to the Baron. "Give me
three," says he, "and done." I gave him three, and lost the game by one.
"Dobbel, or quits," says he. "Go it," says I, up to my mettle: "Sam Coxe
never says no;" and to it we went.
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