atisfaction on his face.

"That'll bring 'em," he said aloud, though he was alone. "That'll
bring 'em both up here, roaring like lions. They'll muss up the
furniture, and then I can tell the reporters all about it. Even
Walford can't object this time."

He rubbed his hands together like Shylock at the thought of his pound
of flesh. He had waited a long time. They had ordered him, McQuade.
who held the city in his hand--they had ordered him out of the house.
Not a grain of mercy, not half a grain. Two birds with one stone. He
was shrewd for all his illiteracy. He knew women passably well. This
one would tell her husband, who would seek for immediate vengeance.

But sometimes chance overthrows the best-laid plans of cleverness and
foresight. And this remarkable plan of McQuade's was deranged by a
chance guess by Patty.

Meantime at Martin's it was growing lively. The bar was crowded, the
restaurant was being liberally patronized, and persons went up the
stairs that did not return. Jordan paid the check, and he and Osborne
went out.

"When'll they go out, Ben?"

"Monday."

"Too bad. I wish I'd been sober."

"I'll break Morrissy's head one of these fine days. Let's go over to
Johnny's; there's music over there."

"All right, Ben."

"And no more booze, mind."

"Just as you say."

Up stairs the gambling-den was doing a good business. The annual
trotting meet had brought many sporting men to town. They were
standing around the faro table; the two roulette wheels were going,
and the Klondike machine spun ceaselessly. There were a dozen stacks
of chips in front of Bolles. He was smiling, flushed with triumph and
whisky.

"Three hundred to the good, old boy!" he said to the man who spun the
ivory ball. "I'll break you fellows to-night."

"Bring Mr. Bolles another whisky," said the proprietor.

"I'll take all you can bring."

"You're a tank, sure."

"You bet!" Bolles grinned.

So did the banker, covertly. He had seen the comedy played a thousand
times. Few men ever took away their winnings, once they started in to
drink, and Bolles was already drunk. He lost his next bet. He doubled
and lost again. Then he stacked his favorite number. The ball rolled
into it, but jumped the compartment, wizard-wise, and dropped into
single-o. Bolles cursed the luck. Another whisky was placed at his
elbow. He drank it at a gulp.

"Make the limit five," he cried.

The banker nodded to the man at the wheel.

Bolles made