"Well, if they didn't sound so grand, what would be the point of dangling them to entice us to play?" he counters, all in good cheer — grand cheer, really; something about this beer, or the other beers of the night(s) before, have definitely been helping keep his mood up and his spirits bright and chipper. (No need for her to make him drink rosewater this time, either.) He does, at least, take the plate back from Alfred — eventually, after putting the case away, and not before taking a second cigarette out and tucking it behind one ear for later. (Always so classy, that Augustine fellow!)

"I've played a few hands here and there," he admits. "A myriad's experience likely would be an enhancement, if one had a full myriad's experience gambling — do you know, I actually haven't played all that many hands of cards? Something about the way Cyth would suck on her teeth to irritate everyone out of their concentration, playing her — it was entirely too effective for me, I can tell you that one for free."

There's a chip in his pocket with his face on it; how could he possibly want to waste something so endearingly gauche by gambling it away, anyway?!