Bodney stepped out. "Come in again," the fellow called after him. He did not reply, except in a mumble, to hurl imprecations back over his shoulder at the soda-water man. "He’s a liar, and I’ll bet he’s a thief. Now what?" he added, halting on the corner. He looked up and down the street, and scanned the faces of the passers-by, hoping to recognize an acquaintance. Presently a man rushed up and with a "helloa, old fellow," grasped him by the hand. Bodney gripped him; he did not recall his name, but he held him close. "I haven’t seen you for some time," said Bodney. "No, not since we were out on Lake Geneva, fishing for cisco." "That’s a fact. Say, everybody has closed up, and I need ten dollars till tomorrow morning. Can you—" "I was just going to ask you for five," said the cisco fisherman. "I went over here at three sixty-one, and got into a little game of poker and got busted. Ever over there? Now, there’s a good game, only two dollars limit, but it’s liberal. There ain’t a tight wad in the house. Come up some time." Bodney got on a car to go home. He had just five cents. The talking of two women and the frolicking of a party of young fellows annoyed him. And then arose before him the sorrowful face of his sister. The rat had come back with his teeth sharpened, and he felt his heart bleeding. He fancied that he could hear the dripping of the blood. Then came upon him the resolve never to play another game of poker. It was a sure road to ruin, to despair. He would confess to Howard and the Judge. The car stopped and Bradley, the preacher, got on, sitting down opposite Bodney, who, upon recognizing him, arose and warmly shook his hand. "I am delighted to see you, Mr. Bradley. You are out thus late for the good of humanity, I suppose, or rather I know." "I can only hope so," replied the preacher. "Some sort of meeting of preachers for the advancement of morals, Mr. Bradley?" "No, a dinner." "Well, a good dinner contributes to good morals." "If not over-indulged in."