complete loss; then the croupier's voice sounded suddenly in my ear:

"You are interrupting us, sir."

I silenced him with a glance and turned to my brother, having decided
in an instant on the only possible course.

"Here, let me have your chair. I will get it back for you. Come!"

He looked at me for a moment in hesitation, then rose without a word
and I took his place.

The thing was tiresome enough, but how could I have avoided it? The
blood that rushes to the head of the gambler is certainly not food for
the intellect; and, besides, I was forced by circumstances into an
heroic attitude--and nothing is more distasteful to a man of sense.
But I had a task before me; if a man lays bricks he should lay them
well; and I do not deny that there was a stirring of my pulse as I sat
down.

Is it possible for a mind to directly influence the movements of a
little ivory ball? I do not say yes, but will you say no? I watched
the ball with the eye of an eagle, but without straining; I played with
the precision of a man with an unerring system, though my selections
were really made quite at random; and I handled my bets with the
sureness and swift dexterity with which a chess-master places his pawn
or piece in position to demoralize his opponent.

This told on the nerves of the croupier. Twice I corrected a
miscalculation of his, and before I had played an hour his hand was
trembling with agitation.

And I won.

The details would be tiresome, but I won; and when, after six hours of
play without an instant's rest, I rose exhausted from my chair and
handed my brother the amount he had lost--I pocketed a few thousands
for myself in addition. There were some who tried to detain me with
congratulations and expressions of admiration, but I shook them off and
led Harry outside to my car.

The chauffeur, poor devil, was completely stiff from the long wait, and
I ordered him into the tonneau and took the wheel myself.

Partly was this due to pity for the driver, partly to a desire to leave
Harry to his own thoughts, which I knew must be somewhat turbulent. He
was silent during the drive, which was not long, and I smiled to myself
in the darkness of the early morning as I heard, now and then, an
uncontrollable sigh break through his dry lips. Of thankfulness,
perhaps.

I preceded him up the stoop and into the hall of the old house on lower
Fifth Avenue, near Tenth Street, that had been the home of our
grandfather a