lost a little; abstained from playing during a few
rounds; then kept his hand in by staking on red,
on black, on odd, or on even; then went back to
the charmed square of thirty-three, and put ten
francs on horseback. The wheel went round and
the ball jarred from compartment to compartment.
"TRENTE-TROIS, noir, pair et passe,"
cried the banker.

With a rake the croupiers propelled towards
the gamester seventeen times his stake, a hundred
and seventy francs.

He drew the money together, separated two
louis from it, crammed the rest into his
breast-pocket, and placed it in the same position.
Then the game was made, and the brass pillar was
twirled, and the ball went whizzing round.

"TRENTE-QUATRE, rouge impair et manque,"
cried the banker.

It being thirty-four, and the stake being
entitled to share in half the gains in either
number, they pushed seventeen times forty francs
towards Blunt. He was now the possessor of
four hundred and fifty francs.

He had not had so much money for months.
He calculated that he could spend a hundred
francs in a riotous night, keep fifty francs for
eating and drinking, for emergencies, and still
have a floating capital of three hundred francs,
which, properly divided, would enable him to
play for a whole week. To many gamesters of Mr.
Blunt's calibre, who were watching his game,
the same calculation presented itself. But, to
the surprise of his neighbours, he never touched
the four hundred and fifty francs. It was in
gold, and he let the pile remain between thirty-
three and thirty-four. He shut his eyes, and
screwed the lids close together. He folded his
arms, and dug his nails into the palms of his
hands. He felt that the back of his head was
burning hot, and that his feet were icy cold. He
gnawed his lips, and awaited the issue.

The pillar was twirled; the ball rushed round
in mad gyration. Blunt heard it hopping up and
down, to and fro, from the outer to the inner rim.
Then its march was feebler; then it stopped.
Then there was silence; and a voice like the sound
of a trumpet came and smote him on the ear.

"TRENTE-TROIS," it said, " noir, pair et passe."

It was thirty-three. He had won seven
thousand six hundred and fifty francs.

"By Jove!" cried a voice, in English, behind
him; "and I've been backing that confounded
thirty-two in full instead of on horseback, and
have lost every sou."

Blunt turned round and saw a young gentleman,
very handsome, very bold-looking, and very
fashionably dressed.

"We are countrymen, it seems,"the gamester
remarked, trying to muster up what he could of
the ancient affable amenity of Francis Blunt,
Esquire.

The young gentleman gave a haughty stare,
and no direct answer.

"You're in luck, old gentleman," he
condescended to observe.

"I am. Why didn't you back my luck? Are
you so rare a punter as not to be up to that
chance?"

"I wasn't thinking about it. I was intent on
my own cursed number. And now I have lost
all."

Blunt had withdrawn his winnings at the end
of the round, while he conversed with his neighbour,
as most experienced gamblers will do, as a
measure of precaution, and sometimes even before
they use their handkerchief, or take a pinch of
snuff, lest an unexpected bleeding at the nose,
or even a sudden fit of sneezing or coughing,
should render them incapable of watching the
chances of the game.

Francis Blunt, Esquire, had never in his most
prosperous period been addicted to giving away
money, or even to paying it when it was due.
"Frank does not like parting with the shiners,"
was the verdict passed in sporting circles on his
disposition to be tenacious of current cash. He
would sow his acceptances at three months
broadcast, but it was difficult to get a sovereign
out of him. It is, however, one of the many
superstitions of gamblers that luck may be
conciliated by giving a piece of gold to a player who
has just lost his last stake. The recipient of this
bounty should be young, and preferably a woman,
but ladies were excluded from Frascati's.
Discipline must be preserved, even among the
devils.

"And so you have lost all," Blunt said. He
had not played for four rounds.

"Not a liard."

The old punter had seven thousand six
hundred and fifty francs. He could afford to be
liberal. He took five louis from his breast-
pocket, and placed them in the young man's
hand.

"Accept this loan," he said, omitting, not
through delicacy, but through avarice, to call it
a gift. "When you have won a hundred louis
you can return it to me. But I advise you to
back my luck."

The young man stared, hesitated, reddened
slightly, passed his white fingers through his
hair in a confused manner, then held out his
hand and took the money.

"I can give it you back presently, you know,
old gentleman," he stammered.

Yes; Mr. Edgar Greyfaunt took the money. He
reddened, stammered, hesitated; but he took the
money. Have you never been told that inveterate
gambling has an inevitable tendency to harden
the human heart, and to destroy in the gamester
every sense of shame? Out of a gaming-house,
Mr. Edgar Greyfaunt would have disdained to
touch this shameful old creature's money. He
looked like a beggar-man. But inside Frascati's,
Mr. Greyfaunt was very glad indeed to accept it.
He was young yet, you see, but after another
year's apprenticeship even the blush, the stammer,
and the hesitation, would have disappeared.

Blunt went on playing. He soon forgot all
about the person to whom he had been so