Dickie sat in a comfortable chair with a rug draped over him, his battered body still recovering from the beating he'd received. He sucked on his pipe and watched the game, his swollen eyes darting quickly over the cards on the table with the experience of a seasoned player. Luck had deserted him on the last hand dealt and again he'd passed. He watched the newest member of their card playing group and, even if he was a likeable oaf, the big Swede couldn't play Loo and was in danger of losing his purse.
When the next hand was dealt and the trump card turned over, Charles was happy. He knew the cards he held were good and would probably win the entire pot. He risked a casual glance at Barrett and saw immediately the familiar twitch of the pipe that indicated Barrett had also been dealt good
