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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
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