Deacon cut the cards, won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle.
But his luck was still against him, and he lost the game.

"Another game," he said. "We didn't say how many, and you can't quit
with me a loser. I want action."

Grief shuffled and passed the cards for the cut.

"Let's play for a thousand," Deacon said, when he had lost the second
game. And when the thousand had gone the way of the two five hundred
bets he proposed to play for two thousand.

"That's progression," McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glare
from Deacon. But the manager was insistent. "You don't have to play
progression, Grief, unless you're foolish."

"Who's playing this game?" Deacon flamed at his host; and then, to
Grief: "I've lost two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?"

Grief nodded, the fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifest
unfairness of such betting was known to all of them. Though he had lost
three games out of four, Deacon had lost no money. By the child's device
of doubling his wager with each loss, he was bound, with the first game
he won, no matter how long delayed, to be even again.

He now evinced an unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck to
be cut.

"What?" Deacon cried. "You want more?"

"Haven't got anything yet," Grief murmured whimsically, as he began the
deal. "For the usual five hundred, I suppose?"

The shame of what he had done must have tingled in Deacon, for he
answered, "No, we'll play for a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points is
too long. Why not twenty-one points out--if it isn't too rapid for you?"

"That will make it a nice, quick, little game," Grief agreed.

The former method of play was repeated. Deacon lost two games, doubled
the stake, and was again even. But Grief was patient, though the thing
occurred several times in the next hour's play. Then happened what he
was waiting for--a lengthening in the series of losing games for Deacon.
The latter doubled to four thousand and lost, doubled to eight thousand
and lost, and then proposed to double to sixteen thousand.

Grief shook his head. "You can't do that, you know. You're only ten
thousand credit with the company."

"You mean you won't give me action?" Deacon asked hoarsely. "You mean
that with eight thousand of my money you're going to quit?"

Grief smiled and shook his head.

"It's robbery, plain robbery," Deacon went on. "You take my money and
won't give me action."

"No, you're wrong. I'