if you will not mention my name in connection with the
matter, even to Mr. Lowington, and certainly not to any one else."

"I will not, Shuffles."

"The fellows are gambling in the steerage at this very moment," added
Shuffles, in a low tone. "Don't betray me."

"I will not. Gambling!" exclaimed Paul, with natural horror.

"You will find them in No. 8," continued Shuffles, walking away, and
leaving the astonished officer to wonder how boys could gamble.

CHAPTER XII.

THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL.

Paul Kendall, who had not occupied a berth in the steerage since the
first organization of the ship, was greatly surprised and grieved to
learn that some of the crew were addicted to vicious practices. Gambling
was an enormous offence, and he was not quite willing to believe that
such a terrible evil had obtained a foothold in the ship. He could
hardly conceive of such a thing as boys engaging in games of chance;
only the vilest of men, in his estimation, would do so. Shuffles had
told him so, apparently without malice or design, and there was no
reason to doubt the truth of his statement, especially as he had given
the particulars by which it could be verified.

The second lieutenant went down into the steerage. Classes were reciting
to the professors, and studying their lessons at the mess tables. There
was certainly no appearance of evil, for the place was still, and no
sound of angry altercation or ribald jest, which his fancy connected
with the vice of gambling, saluted his ears. He cautiously entered
Gangway D, and paused where he could hear what was said in mess room No.
8.

"I'm five shillings into your half sovereign," said one of the
gamblers; and then Paul distinctly heard the rattling of the props.

"There's the half sovereign," added another, whose voice the officer
recognized as that of Wilton. "You own five shillings in it, and I own
five shillings."

"That's so," replied Sanborn, who appeared to be the lucky one.

"Let us shake for the coin," added Wilton. "It's my throw."

"That's rather steep."

"We get along faster--that's all. If I throw a nick, or a browner, it's
mine; if an out, it's yours."

"I am agreed--throw away," replied Sanborn, without perceiving that the
one who held the props had two chances to his one.

The props rattled, and dropped on the bed.

"A browner!" exclaimed Wilton, thereby winning all he had lost at one
throw.

"Hush! don't talk so loud," interposed Adler. "