“Capital! Splendid! Take ten, here!”
Again he took all the notes out of his pocket and picked out one for ten roubles. “And if you lose that, come again, come again.”
“Very good,” Maximov whispered joyfully, and he ran back again. Mitya too, returned, apologising for having kept them waiting. The Poles had already sat down, and opened the pack. They looked much more amiable, almost cordial. The Pole on the sofa had lighted another pipe and was preparing to throw. He wore an air of solemnity.
“To your places, gentlemen,” cried Pan Vrublevsky.
“No, I’m not going to play any more,” observed Kalganov, “I’ve lost fifty roubles to them just now.”
“The pan had no luck, perhaps he’ll be lucky this time,” the Pole on the sofa observed in his direction.
“How much in the bank? To correspond?” asked Mitya.
“That’s according, panie, maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred, as much as you will stake.”
“A million!” laughed Mitya.
“The Pan Captain has heard of Pan Podvysotsky, perhaps?”
“What Podvysotsky?”
“In Warsaw there was a bank and any one comes and stakes against it. Podvysotsky comes, sees a thousand gold pieces, stakes against the bank. The banker says, ‘panie Podvysotsky, are you laying down the gold, or must we trust to your honour?’ ‘To my honour, panie,’ says Podvysotsky. ‘So much the better.’ The banker throws the dice. Podvysotsky wins. ‘Take it, panie,’ says the banker, and pulling out the drawer he gives him a million. ‘Take it, panie, this is your gain.’ There was a million in the bank. ‘I didn’t know that,’ says Podvysotsky. ‘Panie Podvysotsky,’ said the banker, ‘you pledged your honour and we pledged ours.’ Podvysotsky took the million.”
“That’s not true,” said Kalganov.
“Panie Kalganov, in gentlemanly society one doesn’t say such things.”
“As if a Polish gambler would give away a million!” cried Mitya, but checked himself at once. “Forgive me, panie, it’s my fault again, he would, he would give away a million, for honour, for Polish honour. You see how I talk Polish, ha-ha! Here, I stake ten roubles, the knave leads.”
“And I put a rouble on the queen, the queen of hearts, the pretty little panienotchka, he-he!” laughed Maximov, pulling out his queen, and, as though trying to conceal it from every one, he moved right up and crossed himself hurriedly under the table. Mitya won. The rouble won, too.
“A corner!’ cried Mitya.
“I’ll bet another rouble, a ‘single’ stake,” Maximov muttered gleeflly, hugely delighted at having won a rouble.
“Lost!” shouted Mitya. “A ‘double’ on the seven!”
The seven too was trumped.
“Stop!” cried Kalganov suddenly.