Why dwell on the mad scramble? That night was the culmination. Disgraceful as was the thing in itself, it pales before the disgrace incident to a mood of reckless confession which seized the company. Somebody blurted out that she’d win that two hundred or die. Then a nigh insane man in a corner shouted across the room, to the shocking of all: “Let’s make it poker!” The laugh that greeted this was spasmodic; and all at once right before Mrs. Hummel on the central table, Mr. Stoker, as though he had lost his mind, and grown wild and cynical, began to deal out--ten-dollar bills from his deck. These Mr. Wheelock snatched up and shook aloft with fearful merriment under the chandelier. In that instant the boom collapsed. Who could predict the psychological moment? The sight of the ten-dollar bills was too much. Shame rushed into every breast; the reaction began; and henceforth in the hands of everybody but Mrs. Hummel (who, brain on fire, had failed to catch the significance of the moment), euchre fell a limp and lifeless thing. And that alone is why the preacher’s wife, who scarcely knew her bowers, won the bedroom set. A sudden, fierce knocking at the door, and in burst an officer. “I have a warrant for the arrest of John Stoker,” said he. “I’m here,” said Stoker, sneering and white; and Mrs. Stoker fainted. Everybody stared; all seized hats; like rats the euchre players slunk away; the Corinthian cottage, like a bedizened but deserted courtesan, stood gaudily shining in the night, alone. Later the town awoke, as the high-roller awakes next morning with a suffering and repentant head, and the readjustment began. Everybody owed somebody for prizes, as, in ’88, everybody owed somebody for lots. Everybody was a buffer to everybody. The thing let itself down and evened itself up, and nobody was hard on anybody. And thus the euchre boom passed into history. Now the church people began to rehabilitate their consciences. And Banker Wheelock hit upon a scheme. As financier of the bankrupt soul, Wheelock will ever stand out a genius. “Why,” said he to Botts, “we did it to help Hummel.” “True,” said Botts, dazzled; “let’s go and tell him.” And on a Saturday evening a score of citizens came to Hummel’s house. Hummel was lying pallid on a lounge. “We’ve come,” said Wheelock, blandly, “to felicitate you. We couldn’t bear to see you carry that debt, Hummel. We fixed the little thing in what was, I agree, an unprecedented way. But when we schemed beforehand with Mrs. Stoker to give a party and pass the victory on to your wife--Hummel, my friend, our hearts went with it!” And Hummel, seeing this astonishing loophole for them all, arose to greet the general smile. “Kind friends,” said he, in trembling relief, “more blessed is it to give than to receive.” THE SORCERY OF ASENATH By Maria Roberts