, but he found it to be impossible. He was too old
to reform, and the money habit had such a hold over him that I believe
even when he slept he was conscious of his wealth. He was not a coarse,
vulgar Dives: he had the instincts of a gentleman; but these were
powerless. The consciousness of money showed itself on him like a
perspiration; wipe his brows as he might, it always reappeared.

"He had not been poor in his early life; his father was a man of
moderate means, and Rounders had never known privations and hardships;
but, in his intense desire to make people think that his character had
not been affected by his money, he sometimes alluded to straits and
difficulties he had known in early days, of which he was not now in the
least ashamed. But he was so careful to keep these incidents free from
any suspicion of real hardships or poverty that he always failed to make
the impression he desired. I have seen him quite downcast after an
interview with strangers, and I was well aware what was the matter with
him. He knew that, in spite of his attempts to conceal the domination of
his enslaving habit, these people had discovered it. Considering all
this, I came to believe it would please Rounders very much to come to
stay a few days with us. Life in a cot, without any people to wait upon
him, would be a great thing for him to talk about; it might help to make
some people believe that he was getting the better of his money habit.

"In the middle of the night I happened to wake, then I happened to think
of Rounders, then I happened to think of a story Baxter had told me, and
then I burst out into a loud laugh. Fortunately Anita did not awake; she
merely talked in her sleep, and turned over. The story Baxter had told
me was this: In the past winter I had given a grand dinner, and
Rounders was one of the guests. Isadore's specialty was ices, pastry,
salads, and all sorts of delicate preparations, and he had excelled
himself on this occasion, especially in the matter of sweets. At an
unhappy moment Rounders had said to his neighbor that if she could taste
the sort of thing she was eating as his cook made it she would know what
it really ought to be. An obliging butler carried this remark to
Monsieur Isadore as he was sipping his wine in his dressing-gown and
slippers. The interesting part of this anecdote was Baxter's description
of Isadore's rage. The furious cook took a cab and drove directly to
Baxter's hotel. The wording of