u the money?" asked Davis, at
last.

"Oh yes, he gave it--he gave it freely enough; in fact, he bled so
easily that, as the doctors say, I took a good dash from him. You
mentioned two thousand florins, but I thought, as I was about it, a
little more would do us no harm, and so I said, 'Lazarus, old fellow,
what if we make this for ten thousand--"

"Ten thousand!" said Davis, removing his cigar from his lips and staring
earnestly, but yet not angrily, at the other.

"Don't you see that as I have the money with me," began Beecher, in a
tone of apology and terror, "and as the old fellow didn't put 'the screw
on' as to discount--"

"No, he's fair enough about that; indeed, so far as my own experience
goes, all Jews are. It's your high-class Christian I'm afraid of; but
you took the cash?"

"Yes!" said Beecher, timidly, for he was n't sure he was yet out of
danger.

"It was well done,--well thought of," said Grog, blandly. "We 'll want
a good round sum to try this new martingale of mine. Opening with five
naps, we must be able to bear a run of four hundred and eighty, which,
according to the rule of chances, might occur once in seventeen thousand
three hundred and forty times."

"Oh, as to that," broke in Beecher, "I have hedged famously. I bought
old Stein's conjuring-book; what he calls his 'Kleinod,' showing how
every game is to be played, when to lay on, when to draw off. Here it
is," said he, producing the volume from his breast-pocket. "I have been
over it all day. I tried three problems with the cards myself, but I
couldn't make them come up right."

"How did you get him to part with this?" asked Davis, as he examined the
volume carefully.

"Well, I gave him a fancy price,--that is, I am to give it, which makes
all the difference," said Beecher, laughing. "In short, I gave him a bit
of stiff, at three months, for one thousand--"

"Florins?"

"No, pounds,--pounds sterling," said Beecher, with a half-choking
effort.

"It _was_ a fancy price," said Grog, slowly, not the slightest sign of
displeasure manifesting itself on his face as he spoke.

"You don't think, then, that it was too much?" faltered out Beecher.

"Perhaps not, _under_ the circumstances," said Davis, keenly.

"What do you mean by 'under the circumstances'?"

Davis threw his cigar into the stream, pushed bottle and glasses
away from him,--far enough to permit him to rest both his arms on the
table,--and then, steadfastly fixing his eye