d the crowd by
showing the solution of them all.

Finally, the punch was declared to be ready; other packs of cards were
produced and the real sport of the evening began. It was Edgar's first
experience in drinking with boys and his conscience, not yet hardened
to it, kept him in check without worrying him enough to destroy his
pleasure. Somewhat of his old exhilaration returned to him at the bare
thought, for he felt himself a man, following his own will and yet not
disobeying any direct command.

In spite of much urging, he only drank one glass of the peach-honey, but
thanks to a jovial ancestor of whom he had never heard, but of some of
whose sins (in accordance with the ancient law) he bore the marks in his
temperament, he was peculiarly susceptible to the influences of strong
drink, and as he drained the glass at a gulp, a new freedom seemed to
enter his soul. The dejection which had oppressed him dropped from him
instantly, and with his great eyes glowing like lamps with new zest in
life, he sat down at a card table to be initiated into the mysteries of
the fascinating game of _loo_, which had lately become the fashion, and
at the same time into his first experience in playing for money.

He had beginner's luck--held good hands and won straight through the
game. His success, with the effects of the punch, developed his wittiest
vein and Edgar Goodfellow assumed complete ascendancy.

His new acquaintances were charmed, and encouraged his mood by loud
applause and congratulated themselves upon having added to their number
such good company.

From that night Edgar Poe's new friends, who constituted what was known
as the "fast set" at the University, became his boon companions. It was
in the card-table, much more than the punch-bowl that the charm for him
lay, for the gambling fever had entered his blood with his first
winnings, but in the combination of the two he found, for the present, a
sure cure for his "blue devils."

Alas, Helen! Where was your sweet spirit that it did not hover, as
guardian angel, about the head of this wayward child of genius in his
hour of sore need, when temptations gathered thick around his pathway
and there was no one to steer him into safer waters; no one to restrain
his feet from their first blind steps toward that Disaster to which
ruinous companionship invited him, with syren voice?

True, his staid room-mate, Miles George, raised his voice in warning
against the dangerous int