Goat slapped down his cards, rising to his feet with an angry bleat. He shook his great, horned head, long beard waving to and fro, and stamped his cloven hoof upon the old boards. He was a sight to behold, such rage that coursed through him. Camel watched Goat with a sly smile, a drooping cigarette balanced between her fingers. Her pose was far more relaxed, her long legs outstretched beneath the table. Her ragged, red dress did not stretch with her, instead riding up to nearly expose her crotch. Ladylike, she was not.

"Oh my, dear Goat, please sit down," she cooed, her fleshy, lipstick smeared lips pursing together in a mocking fashion. "You must know as well as I that such a game as Poker requires a steady hand. It cannot be helped that you are such a jittery fellow."

Goat stamped his foot again, the line of his mouth turned down as though tasting something bitter. "How dare you accuse me of such, tavern whore!" he bleated loudly. "I've played Poker for years. Many, many years. A woman like you cannot possibly beat me at the very game I've devoted my life to!"

Then Goat, obviously much to angry for any further words, stomped out of the tavern, flinging the swinging doors open so far that they banged back and forth against the walls. Only old Platypus raised his head from where he sat at the bar, small watery eyes gazing for a moment at the wildly swinging doors. Then Platypus raised up his mug, opened his old cracked bill wide and poured the remaining ale down his throat as Camel took a long drag from the cigarette.