"When a man gets them sort of hands beaten he’s got to lose his money," said the "look-out." "There’s nothing to it." A man standing near was waiting for Bodney’s seat. He shoved back and was about to get up, pursuant upon the resolution which he had formed when, it occurred to him, as it always does, that with ten more he could win back the ten just lost. It was simply an accident that the fellow held over him. He would try ten more. His luck was gone, but he expected every moment to see it return. He opened a pot on aces and tens. A fool stayed on deuces, caught his third, and slaughtered him. He bought ten more. His spirits were heavy and he sighed distressfully. It was not the loss of the money; it was the harassing sense of being beaten. He opened another pot on queens up. One of the regulars raised him. He began to reason. "He would raise it on two pairs smaller than queens up. I saw him raise just now on sevens up. I’ll stand it." He put in his money and drew one card. The regular drew one. The prospect was not bright, still it was not so bad. He did not help. He bet a white chip; the regular raised him three dollars and he called. Then the regular had recourse to a joke, new to Bodney, but old to the game. "I have the waiter’s delight," said he. "The what?" "The waiter’s delight," and he spread a tray full. At ten o’clock, Bodney’s capital, including the reserve fund, amounted to twenty dollars. "You beat me every time," he said, to an offensive fellow who sat opposite. It was the stranger with whom he had laughed early in the game. "That’s what I’m here for." "That’s all right. I’ll get you yet." He won several pots, and then opened a double pot for five dollars. He had a king high flush, and he intended the heavy opening to operate as a reverse bluff, to argue a small hand. The offensive fellow stayed and drew one card. He made a small full and Bodney felt his heart stop beating. At eleven o’clock he had simply the five dollar reserve fund. And he saw it melt away—saw his last chip go in. He drew, having a show for the pot, and made jacks up. The opener had queens up. Heavy of heart, Bodney went down the stairs. He cursed himself for playing after dinner. "If I only had ten dollars I might win it all back," he mused. "They can’t possibly beat me all the time. I played as good cards as anybody. I wonder where I can get ten dollars. Everybody that knows me has gone home by now. Let me see. I know a fellow over at that drug store. But I’ve forgotten his name. Wonder if he’d let me have ten. I’ll try him." He went into the drug store, saw the man standing behind the counter, walked up, reached over and shook hands with him. "How’s everything?" Bodney asked. [Illustration: "How’s everything?" Bodney asked.] "Oh, pretty fair. How is it with you?" "All right. Say, old man, a college chum of mine, devilish good fellow, came in just now on a train and happened to catch me at the office—"