ockets for the time being,
all but two dollars that go on Nos. 11 and 33. And No. 22 comes up
again. She nearly fainted and didn't recover in time to get anything
down for the next roll--and I'm darned if 11 don't show! She turns
savagely on her husband at this. The poor hulk only says:

"But, Pettie, you're playing the game--I ain't."

She replies bitterly:

"Oh, ain't that just like a man! I knew you were going to say
that!"--and seemed to think she had him well licked.

Then the single-o come. She says:

"Oh, dear! It seems that, even with the higher consciousness, one can't
be always certain of one's numbers at this dreadful game."

And while she was further reproaching her husband, taking time to do it
good and keeping one very damp dollar safe in her hand, what comes up
but old 33 again!

It looked like hysterics then, especially when she noticed Buck Devine
helping pile Sandy's chips up in front of him till they looked like a
great old English castle, with towers and minarets, and so on, Sandy
having played his hunch strong and steady. She waited for another turn
that come nothing important to any of 'em; then she drew Leonard out and
made him take her for a glass of lemonade out where Aggie Tuttle was
being Rebekkah at the Well, because they charged two bits for it at the
bar and Aggie's was only a dime. The sale made forty cents Aggie had
took in on the evening.

Racing back to Ye Olde Tyme Gambling Denne, she gets another hard blow;
for Sandy has not only win another of his magic numbers but has bought
up the bar for the evening, inviting all hands to brim a cup at his
expense, whenever they crave it--nobody's money good but his; so Cora is
not only out what she would of made by following his play but the ten
cents cash she has paid Aggie Tuttle. She was not a woman to be trifled
with then. She took another lemonade because it was free, and made Len
take one that he didn't want. Then she draws three dollars from him and
covers the three numbers with reckless and noble sweeps of her powerful
arms. The game was on again.

Cousin Egbert by now was looking slightly disturbed, or _outre_, as the
French put it, but tries to conceal same under an air of sparkling
gayety, laughing freely at every little thing in a girlish or painful
manner.

"Yes," says he coquettishly; "that Sandy scoundrel is taking it fast out
of one pocket, but he's putting it right back into the other. The
wheel's loss is the bar's g