was bright and he did not look like a slave. "How did you come out?" Bodney asked. "I was ninety in when you left, and I pull out sixty winner." "You did? You were losing when I left." "Yes, but they can’t beat a man all the time. I tell you it would put me in the hole if I didn’t win. I owe at three or four places, and I go around today and pay up." Then, with a feeling like a sudden sickness at the stomach, came the recollection of the druggist and the preacher, obligations not to be discharged that day. Long after the moral nature has been weakened, the poker player may continue to respect his own word, or rather he may not respect it himself but may desire others to do so. Unless his income is large he must operate mainly upon borrowed capital, and breaking his word cripples his resources. And then, after having lost, there is a self-shame in having borrowed, a confession of weakness. He condemns himself for not having had strength enough to quit when he found that there was no chance to get even. "There never is a chance to get even," Bodney mused as he walked on toward the office. "The old fellow who has worn himself out at the cursed game says so and I believe it. I will tell Howard—nothing shall shake my resolution. I will simply cut my throat before I’ll sink myself further in this iniquity. By nature I am not dishonest. If I hadn’t met that fellow Goyle I might—but I’ll not think of him. Now that fellow didn’t play any better cards than I did, was nearly a hundred in and pulled out sixty ahead. And he has paid his debts while I must dodge. I wonder how much I have lost within the past two months. On an average of fifty dollars a sitting. That won’t do. I had money enough to—but I won’t think about it—won’t do any good, and besides it is over with now." He found Howard in the office writing. "A brief?" said Bodney, sitting down. "In one sense—short meter," Howard replied. "What, poetry?" "Rhyme. I come by it naturally, you know. Have you heard from your friend today, the one you sat up with?" "Yes, he’s better." "Goyle was here—said he’d be back this afternoon." "Didn’t leave any money—didn’t say what he wanted, did he?" "No. I think he wants to talk more than anything else. He is a smart fellow, George, but I am beginning to find fault with him. I don’t like his principles." "Perhaps he has none," Bodney replied. "What, have you begun to—" "Oh, no, I merely said that." "That’s the way he talks—makes a statement and then declares he didn’t mean it. By the way, I’m going to get out of this office. There’s no use staying here. If father wants to keep it, let him; but you and I ought to be in a more modern building. We have played at the law long enough. What do you say?" "I don’t know but you are right. I would like to do something. Has anyone else called?" "Yes, Bradley was here." "Bradley! What did he want?" "He didn’t say what he wanted." "What did he say?"