ooking gentlemen were operating (with some greasy
walnut shells and a pea) what the fanciful or unsophisticated might have
been pleased to call a game of chance; and the most intent spectator of
the group around them was Mr. James Bardlock, the Town Marshal. He
was simply and unofficially and earnestly interested. Thus the eye of
Justice may not be said to have winked upon the nefariousness now under
its vision; it gazed with strong curiosity, an itch to dabble, and (it
must be admitted) a growing hope of profit. The game was so direct and
the player so sure. Several countrymen had won small sums, and one, a
charmingly rustic stranger, with a peculiar accent (he said that him and
his goil should now have a smoot' old time off his winninks--though the
lady was not manifested), had won twenty-five dollars with no trouble at
all. The two operators seemed depressed, declaring the luck against them
and the Plattville people too brilliant at the game.

It was wonderful how the young couples worked their way arm-in-arm
through the thickest crowds, never separating. Even at the lemonade
stands they drank holding the glasses in their outer hands--such are the
sacrifices demanded by etiquette. But, observing the gracious outpouring
of fortune upon the rustic with the rare accent, a youth in a green tie
disengaged his arm--for the first time in two hours--from that of a
girl upon whose finger there shone a ring, sumptuous and golden, and,
conducting her to a corner of the yard, bade her remain there until he
returned. He had to speak to Hartly Bowlder, he explained.

Then he plunged, red-faced and excited, into the circle about the shell
manipulators, and offered, to lay a wager.

"Hol' on there, Hen Fentriss," thickly objected a flushed young man
beside him, "iss my turn."

"I'm first. Hartley," returned the other. "You can hold yer bosses a
minute, I reckon."

"Plenty fer each and all, chents," interrupted one of the shell-men.
"Place yer spondulicks on de little ball. Wich is de next lucky one
to win our money? Chent bets four sixty-five he seen de little ball
go under de middle shell. Up she comes! Dis time _we_ wins; Plattville
can't win _every_ time. Who's de next chent?"

Fentriss edged slowly out of the circle, abashed, and with rapidly
whitening cheeks. He paused for a moment, outside, slowly realizing that
all his money had gone in one wild, blind whirl--the money he had earned
so hard and saved so hard, to make a