ts and growing more
interested and determined on that account. At last the fascinating
game took a strong hold on him. He enjoyed its risks and ventured, on
a trifling hand, to bluff the company and secure a fair stake. To his
self-satisfaction intense and strong, he did it.

In the height of this feeling he began to think his luck was with him.
No one else had done so well. Now came another moderate hand, and again
he tried to open the jack-pot on it. There were others there who were
almost reading his heart, so close was their observation.

"I have three of a kind," said one of the players to himself. "I'll just
stay with that fellow to the finish."

The result was that bidding began.

"I raise you ten."

"Good."

"Ten more."

"Good."

"Ten again."

"Right you are."

It got to where Hurstwood had seventy-five dollars up. The other man
really became serious. Perhaps this individual (Hurstwood) really did
have a stiff hand.

"I call," he said.

Hurstwood showed his hand. He was done. The bitter fact that he had lost
seventy-five dollars made him desperate.

"Let's have another pot," he said, grimly.

"All right," said the man.

Some of the other players quit, but observant loungers took their
places. Time passed, and it came to twelve o'clock. Hurstwood held on,
neither winning nor losing much. Then he grew weary, and on a last hand
lost twenty more. He was sick at heart.

At a quarter after one in the morning he came out of the place. The
chill, bare streets seemed a mockery of his state. He walked slowly
west, little thinking of his row with Carrie. He ascended the stairs and
went into his room as if there had been no trouble. It was his loss that
occupied his mind. Sitting down on the bedside he counted his money.
There was now but a hundred and ninety dollars and some change. He put
it up and began to undress.

"I wonder what's getting into me, anyhow?" he said.

In the morning Carrie scarcely spoke and he felt as if he must go out
again. He had treated her badly, but he could not afford to make up. Now
desperation seized him, and for a day or two, going out thus, he lived
like a gentleman--or what he conceived to be a gentleman--which took
money. For his escapades he was soon poorer in mind and body, to say
nothing of his purse, which had lost thirty by the process. Then he came
down to cold, bitter sense again.

"The rent man comes to-day," said Carrie, greeting him thus
indifferently t