of his postulations. He had played out the game.
That one night in the open had shaken his nerves. Until then there
had been left to him at least a few grounds upon which he could base
his unblushing demands upon his neighbours' stores. Now he must beg
instead of borrowing. The most brazen sophistry could not dignify by
the name of "loan" the coin contemptuously flung to a beachcomber who
slept on the bare boards of the public market.

But on this morning no beggar would have more thankfully received
a charitable coin, for the demon thirst had him by the throat--the
drunkard's matutinal thirst that requires to be slaked at each
morning station on the road to Tophet.

Blythe walked slowly up the street, keeping a watchful eye for any
miracle that might drop manna upon him in his wilderness. As he
passed the popular eating house of Madama Vasquez, Madama's boarders
were just sitting down to freshly-baked bread, _aguacates_, pines and
delicious coffee that sent forth odorous guarantee of its quality
upon the breeze. Madama was serving; she turned her shy, stolid,
melancholy gaze for a moment out the window; she saw Blythe, and her
expression turned more shy and embarrassed. "Beelzebub" owed her
twenty _pesos_. He bowed as he had once bowed to less embarrassed
dames to whom he owed nothing, and passed on.

Merchants and their clerks were throwing open the solid wooden doors
of their shops. Polite but cool were the glances they cast upon
Blythe as he lounged tentatively by with the remains of his old
jaunty air; for they were his creditors almost without exception.

At the little fountain in the _plaza_ he made an apology for a toilet
with his wetted handkerchief. Across the open square filed the
dolorous line of friends of the prisoners in the _calaboza_, bearing
the morning meal of the immured. The food in their hands aroused
small longing in Blythe. It was drink that his soul craved, or money
to buy it.

In the streets he met many with whom he had been friends and equals,
and whose patience and liberality he had gradually exhausted.
Willard Geddie and Paula cantered past him with the coolest of nods,
returning from their daily horseback ride along the old Indian road.
Keogh passed him at another corner, whistling cheerfully and bearing
a prize of newly-laid eggs for the breakfast of himself and Clancy.
The jovial scout of Fortune was one of Blythe's victims who had
plunged his hand oftenest into his pocket to aid hi