Irish made another sweep of his hand and raked the table clean of chips.
"That'll do for tonight," he remarked dryly.

"I don't like to be a hog." Had that ended the incident, sensitive readers might still read and think well of Irish.

But one of the players was not quite sober, and he was a poor loser and a pugnacious individual anyway, with a square face and a thick neck that went straight up to the top of his head.

His underlip pushed out, and when Irish turned away, to cash in his chips, this pugnacious one reached over and took a look at the cards Irish had held.
It certainly was as rotten a hand as a man could hold.

Suits all mixed, and not a face card or a pair in the lot.