Well, I showed them.
I could read Aahz pretty well, possibly because I knew him so intimately. Chumley and Tananda, though, threw me for a loop. I was unable to pick up any sort of giveaway clues in their speech or manner, nor could I manage to detect any apparent relationship between their betting and what they were holding. In a depressingly short period of time I had been cleaned out of my starting allotment of chips. Then we divvied the stacks up again and started over . . . with the same results. We were now closing in on the end of the third round, and I was ready to throw in the towel.
As much as I would have liked to tell myself that I was having a bad run of cards or that we had played too few hands to set the patterns, the horrible truth was that I was simply out-classed. I mean, usually I could spot if a player had a good hand. Then the question was “how good,” or more specifically, if his was better than mine.
Of course, the same went for weak hands. I depended on being able to detect a player who was betting a hand that needed development or if he was simply betting that the other hand in the round would develop worse than his. In this “demonstration game,” however, I was caught flatfooted again and again. Too many times a hand that I had figured for guts-nothing turned out to be a powerhouse.
To say the least, it was depressing. These were players who wouldn’t dream of challenging the Sen-Sen Ante Kid themselves, and they were cleaning my clock without half trying.
“I know when I’m licked, Aahz,” I said. “Even if it does take me a little longer than most. I’m ready to take those lessons you offered … if you still think it will do any good.”