I lingered for a moment to see him "skin" Pushkin. They sauntered up to the table and, after a greeting to the Count, began to toss bills on the board as though they grew on trees. The least of them would have kept me going for months. I had never seen money handled so before and it staggered me. "Who is that young man?" I asked of a man near me, nodding toward the leader. "He must be pretty rich." "Rich! You bet. He's Jim Canter. Got all his daddy's money and going to get all the Argand and Leigh piles some day. He'll need it, too," added my informant. "I should think so." I recalled his name in connection with Miss Leigh's name in the account of the ball, and I was feeling a little bitter. "Why, he'd just as lief try to corner water as to bet a hundred dollar bill on a card. This is just play to him. He'd give all he'd win to-night to any one of his women." "His women?" "Yes. He's one of the real upper class." "The upper class!" So this was the idea of the upper class held by this man and his kind! My soul revolted at the thought of this man standing as the type of our upper class, and I was turning away when Pushkin shoved back his chair. As I turned he looked up and I saw him start, though I did not catch his glance. The dealer saw him, too, and as he looked at me I caught his eye. He motioned to me, but I took no notice. As I walked out the man near the door spoke to me. "There's supper in the next room." "Thank you. I don't want it." "Come in again. Better luck to-morrow." "For you, I hope," I said, and I saw his mystification.