o mind to. It aids the nice
balance of life. And gambling is one of the sins I delight to damn. The
rapid getting of money has never appealed to me, who have always had
sufficient for my moderately epicurean needs, and least of all did it
appeal to me now when I was on the brink of my journey to the land where
French gold and bank notes were not in currency. I repeat, therefore,
that I was bored.

"If the perils of the adventure don't begin soon, my dear Professor," I
whispered, "I shall go to sleep standing."

Again he asked for patience and staked a hundred-franc note. At that
moment the man sitting at the table in front of him rose, and the dwarf
slipped swiftly into his seat. He won his hundred francs and made
the same stake again. It was obvious that the little man did not damn
gambling. It was a sin to which he appeared peculiarly inclined. The
true inwardness of the perilous adventure began to dawn on me. He had
come here to make the money wherewith he could further his gigantic
combinations. All this mystery was part of his childish cunning. I
hardly knew whether to box the little creature's ears, to box my own,
or to laugh. I compromised with a smile on the last alternative, and
baccarat being a dreary game to watch, I strolled off to the nearest
_ecarte_ table, and, to justify my presence in the room, backed one of
the players.

Presently my attention was called to the baccarat table by a noise as
of some dispute, and turning, I saw the gentleman in the dinner-jacket
hurrying to what appeared to be the storm centre, the place where
Anastasius was sitting. Suspecting some minor peril, I left the _ecarte_
players, and joined the gentleman in the dinner-jacket. It seemed that
the hand, which is played in rotation by those seated at each tableau
or half-table, had come round for the first time to Anastasius, and
objection had been taken to his playing it, on the score of his physical
appearance. The dwarf was protesting vehemently. He had played baccarat
in all the clubs of Europe, and had never received such treatment. It
was infamous, it was insulting. The malcontents of the punt paid
little heed to his remonstrances. They resented the entrusting of their
fortunes to one whose chin barely rose above the level of the table.
The banker lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair with a smile of
mockery. His attitude brought up the superfluous flesh about his chin
and the roll of fat at the back of his neck. With