lie Cadwallader.

They have entered without any definite design, further than, as Crozier
said, to "have a shy at the tiger." Besides, as they have been told, a
night in San Francisco would not be complete without a look in upon "El
Dorado."

Soon as inside the saloon, they step towards its drinking-bar, Crozier
saying--

"Come, Cad! let's do some sparkling."

"All right," responds the descendant of the Cymri, his face already a
little flushed with what they have had at the _Parker_.

"Pint bottle of champagne!" calls Crozier.

"We've no pints here," saucily responds the bar-tender--a gentleman in
shirt-sleeves, with gold buckles on his embroidered braces--too grand to
append the courtesy of "sir."

"Nothing less than quarts," he deigns to add.

"A quart bottle, then!" cries Crozier, tossing down a doubloon to pay
for it. "A gallon, if you'll only have the goodness to give it us."

The sight of the gold coin, with a closer inspection of his customers,
and perhaps some dread of a second sharp rejoinder, secures the
attention of the dignified Californian Ganymede, who, re-using his
hauteur, condescends to serve them.

While drinking the champagne, the young officers direct their eyes
towards that part of the saloon occupied by the gamesters; where they
see several clusters of men collected around distinct tables, some
sitting, others standing. They know what it means, and that there is
Monte in their midst.

Though Cadwallader has often heard of the game, he has never played it,
or been a spectator to its play. Crozier, who has both seen and played
it, promises to initiate him.

Tossing off their glasses, and receiving the change--not much out of a
doubloon--they approach one of the Monte tables--that in the centre of
the saloon, around which there are players, standing and sitting three
deep.

It is some time before they can squeeze through the two outside
concentric rings, and get within betting distance of the table. Those
already around it are not men to be pushed rudely apart, or make way for
a couple of youngsters, however imposing their appearance, or impatient
their manner. A mere officer's uniform is not much there, no matter the
nationality. Besides, in the circle are officers of far higher rank
than they, though belonging to a different service: naval captains and
commanders, and of army men, majors, colonels--even generals. What care
these for a pair of boisterous subalterns? Or what