meal, they fell again immediately to cards, this time (on Carthew's

proposal) to Van John. It was then probably two P.M. of the 9th

February; and they played with varying chances for twelve hours, slept

heavily, and rose late on the morrow to resume the game. All day of the

10th, with grudging intervals for food, and with one long absence on the

part of Tommy from which he returned dripping with the case of sherry,

they continued to deal and stake. Night fell: they drew the closer to

the fire. It was maybe two in the morning, and Tommy was selling his

deal by auction, as usual with that timid player; when Carthew, who

didn't intend to bid, had a moment of leisure and looked round him. He

beheld the moonlight on the sea, the money piled and scattered in that

incongruous place, the perturbed faces of the players; he felt in his

own breast the familiar tumult; and it seemed as if there rose in his

ears a sound of music, and the moon seemed still to shine upon a sea,

but the sea was changed, and the Casino towered from among lamplit

gardens, and the money clinked on the green board. "Good God!" he

thought, "am I gambling again?" He looked the more curiously about the

sandy table. He and Mac had played and won like gamblers; the mingled

gold and silver lay by their places in the heap. Amalu and Hemstead had

each more than held their own, but Tommy was cruel far to leeward, and

the captain was reduced to perhaps fifty pounds.

"I say, let's knock off," said Carthew.

"Give that man a glass of Buckle," said some one, and a fresh bottle was

opened, and the game went inexorably on.

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