Charles was feeling uncomfortable, his nerves beginning to take their toll on him. He looked over at Dickie who was now sweating profusely; his pipe lay on the table.
"I think we should have a toast, eh?" suggested Barrett.
"Ya, vhy not."
Once the glasses of all players had been filled, Brannagh raised his glass, "To the winner!" and downed his glass.
"Hear, hear!" The others replied and followed suit, draining their glasses to grimaces.
The signed agreement was placed in the middle of the table on top of the money, where it sat waiting for the winner to claim it.
Charles' heart was pounding frantically, he was sure that others could hear it. He looked again at Barrett who was wiping his brow with a handkerchief.
Neatly folding the cloth and placing it back in his pocket, he looked up and said, "Charles?"