Mrs Tannebaum was sitting in the window seat, facing her friend Mrs Poltz. She was annoyed that the two men had sat in the aisle seats; normally she and Mrs Plotz would have the seats to themselves, and they could spread out a little, and put their handbags on the seats where they were close at hand.
The two men had taken their jackets off like a pair of barbarians, and balanced the sandy-haired man’s briefcase between them. They were playing a two-handed game of pinochle, the cards flying down quickly, and the tricks scooped up under Mrs Poltz’s disapproving eye – she had no time for the devil’s picturebook.
Mrs Tannenbaum was a little more worldly, and she saw the sandy-haired man was cheating – he’d dealt himself 13 cards – but so was his younger, brunette companion who had palmed an Ace worth 11 points from one of the tricks he’d claimed. The game was penny-a-point and such things mattered, but she held her peace; the men were no concern of hers.
The conductor walked by, winking at the two men, even though gambling was strictly forbidden by the railway.
“You two going to the convention? was all he said.
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