They sipped their wine under the trellised vines, and smoked their cigars in an atmosphere fragrant with the jessamine and the rose, the crystal river eddying along at their feet, and the purple mountain glowing in the last tints of declining day. “We want Lizzy to enliven us,” said Davis, after a long silence on both sides. “We 're dull and heavy without her.” “By Jove! it does make a precious difference whether she's here or not,” said Beecher, earnestly. “There's a light-heartedness about that girl does one good,” said Davis, as he puffed his cigar. “And she's no fool, either.” “I should think she's not,” muttered Beecher, half indignantly. “It could n't be supposed she should know life like you or me, for instance; she hasn't seen the thing,--never mixed with it; but let the time come that she shall take her part in the comedy, you 'll see whether she 'll not act it cleverly.” “She has head for anything!” chimed in Beecher. “Ay, and what they call tact too. I don't care what company you place her in; take her among your duchesses to-morrow, and see if she'll not keep her own place,--and that a good one.” Beecher sighed, but it was not in any despondency. And now a long silence ensued; not a sound heard save the light noise of the bottle as it passed between them, and the long-drawn puffs of smoke that issued from their lips. “What did you do with Stein? Did he give you the money?” asked Davis, at last. “Oh yes, he gave it--he gave it freely enough; in fact, he bled so easily that, as the doctors say, I took a good dash from him. You mentioned two thousand florins, but I thought, as I was about it, a little more would do us no harm, and so I said, 'Lazarus, old fellow, what if we make this for ten thousand--” “Ten thousand!” said Davis, removing his cigar from his lips and staring earnestly, but yet not angrily, at the other. “Don't you see that as I have the money with me,” began Beecher, in a tone of apology and terror, “and as the old fellow didn't put 'the screw on' as to discount--” “No, he's fair enough about that; indeed, so far as my own experience goes, all Jews are. It's your high-class Christian I'm afraid of; but you took the cash?” “Yes!” said Beecher, timidly, for he was n't sure he was yet out of danger. “It was well done,--well thought of,” said Grog, blandly. “We 'll want a good round sum to try this new martingale of mine. Opening with five naps, we must be able to bear a run of four hundred and eighty, which, according to the rule of chances, might occur once in seventeen thousand three hundred and forty times.” “Oh, as to that,” broke in Beecher, “I have hedged famously. I bought old Stein's conjuring-book; what he calls his 'Kleinod,' showing how every game is to be played, when to lay on, when to draw off. Here it is,” said he, producing the volume from his breast-pocket. “I have been over it all day. I tried three problems with the cards myself, but I couldn't make them come up right.”