_
with an emphasis--now that the gentleman seemed determined to bet money,
he would show him that he was not to be backed down. If the young man
would like to wager a hundred dollars, he would cheerfully bet with him.
If the gentleman did not feel able to bet a hundred dollars, he hoped he
would not say any more about it. He hadn't intended to bet money at all.
But he wouldn't bet less than a hundred dollars with anybody. A man who
couldn't afford to lose a hundred dollars, ought not to bet.

"Who is this fellow in the white hat with spectacles?" August asked of
the mud-clerk.

"That is Smith, Parkins's partner. He is only splurging round to start
up the greenies." And the mud-clerk spoke with an indifference and yet a
sort of _dilettante_ interest in the game that shocked his friend,
the striker.

"Why don't they set these blacklegs ashore?" said August, whose love of
justice was strong.

"_You_ tell," drawled the mud-clerk. "The first clerk's tried it, but
the old man protects 'em, and" (in a whisper) "get's his share, I guess.
He can set them off whenever he wants to." (I must explain that there
is only one "old man" on a steamboat--that is, the captain.)

By this time Parkins had turned and thrown his cards so that everybody
knew or thought he knew where the ace was. Smith, the man with the white
hat, now rose five dollars more and offered to bet fifteen. But Parkins
was more indignant than ever. He told Smith to go away. He thrust his
hand into his pocket and drew out a handful of twenty-dollar
gold-pieces. "If any gentleman wants to bet a hundred dollars, let him
come on. A man who couldn't lose a hundred would better keep still."

Smith now made a big jump. He'd go fifty. Parkins wouldn't listen to
fifty. He had said that he wouldn't bet less than a hundred, and he
wouldn't. He now pulled out handful after handful of gold, and piled the
double-eagles up like a fortification in front of him, while the crowd
surged with excitement.

At last Mr. Smith, the near-sighted gentleman in spectacles, the
gentleman who wore black crape on a white hat, concluded to bet a
hundred dollars. He took out his little porte-monnaie and lifted thence
a hundred-dollar bill.

"Well," said he angrily, "I'll bet you a hundred." And he laid down the
bill. Parkins piled five twenty-dollar gold-pieces atop it. Each man
felt that he could lift the ace in a moment. That card at the dealer's
right was certainly the ace. Norman was su