and he almost always won. Well,
one night he had been at the theatre, and he left before the end of
the piece and looked in at the Cercle. He took the Bank: lost once, won
twice; then he offered cards. The man who was playing nodded, to show he
would take one, and the Frenchman laid down an eight of clubs, a greasy,
dirty old rag, with _theatre francais de nice_ stamped on it in big
letters. It was his ticket of readmission at the theatre that they
gave him when he went out, and it had got mixed up with a nice little
arrangement in cards he had managed to smuggle into the club pack. I'll
never forget his face and the other man's when _Theatre Francais_ turned
up. However, you understand the game now, and if you want to play, we
had better give fine gold to the waiter in exchange for bone counters,
and get to work."

Two or three of the visitors followed Cranley to the corner where the
white, dissipated-looking waiter of the card-room sat, and provided
themselves with black and red _jetons_ (bone counters) of various
values, to be redeemed at the end of the game.

When they returned to the table the banker was just leaving his post.

"I'm cleaned out," said he, "_decave_. Good-night," and he walked away.

No one seemed anxious to open a bank. The punters had been winning all
night, and did not like to desert their luck.

"Oh, this will never do," cried Cranley. "If no one else will open a
bank, I'll risk a couple of hundred, just to show you beginners how it
is done!"

Cranley sat down, lit a cigarette, and laid the smooth silver
cigarette-case before him. Then he began to deal.

Fortune at first was all on the side of the players. Again and again
Cranley chucked out the counters he had lost, which the others gathered
in, or pushed three or four bank-notes with his little rake in the
direction of a more venturesome winner. The new-comers, who were
winning, thought they had never taken part in a sport more gentlemanly
and amusing.

"I must have one shy," said Martin, one of the boys who had hitherto
stood with Barton, behind the Banker, looking on. He was a gaudy youth
with a diamond stud, rich, and not fond of losing. He staked five pounds
and won; he left the whole sum on and lost, lost again, a third time,
and then said, "May I draw a cheque?"

"Of course you may," Cranley answered. "The waiter will give you _tout
ce qu'il faut pour ecrire_, as the stage directions say; but I don't
advise you to plunge. You'