"Don’t scare away your luck with mistrust. And above all, don’t forget that I have a proposition to make. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow." He went out, humming a tune. Bodney looked round to see whether he was gone, and seemed to be relieved upon seeing him pass out. Now it was time to quit, the slave thought. He had not counted his chips, for that was bad luck, but he must have won nearly sixty dollars. Still the cards kept coming, two pairs holding good, and to quit was an insult to the goddess of good fortune. He remembered hearing a gambler say, speaking of an unlucky player: "He stays to lose, but not to win." At ten o’clock he felt that he had reached his limit, and counted his chips—eighty-seven dollars. "I’ll have to quit you," he said, shoving back. And now how bright and spirited the streets were. He threw a piece of silver upon the banner of the Salvationists. *CHAPTER XV.* *DID NOT TOUCH HER.* As Howard was going out he met Bradley coming up the stairs. "I have caught you in time," said the preacher. "I want you to go to dinner with me—at a place off Van Buren Street, where they cater to the poor." "It is rather a tough neighborhood for a dinner," Howard replied. "Wouldn’t you rather go to a better place?" "No, I would rather like to see how the unfortunate dine." They went to a restaurant that opened into an alley. The long room was furnished with plain tables, without cloths, and not clean. There was sand on the floor, and on the whitewashed walls, together with Scriptural texts, against one of which some brute had thrown a quid of tobacco, were placards which read, "Lodging ten cents." They took seats at a table and a girl came up and put down a piece of paper, scrawled upon with a pencil. It was a bill of fare. The price set opposite each dish was five cents, and at the bottom it was announced that any order included bread. The place was gradually filling up with a mottled crowd, negroes, a sprinkle of Chinamen, Greeks, Polish Jews, tramps—and off in a corner sat an American Indian. "The air is bad," said the preacher. "No worse than the bill of fare," Howard replied. "Let us get out. Don’t you see how they are eyeing us?" "Let us at least make a pretense of eating. I like to watch these odd pieces of driftwood." "Washed from the wreck of humanity," said Howard. The preacher looked at him with a sad smile. "Yes, and perhaps not all of them are responsible for the wreck. They couldn’t weather the storm." The crowd was noisy and profane. The preacher spoke to a waitress, a girl with a hard, unconcerned face. "I thought that this place was under the auspices of the gospel," said he. She did not look at him as she replied: "I believe some sort of a church duck did start it, but a feller named Smith runs it now." "Then services are not held here." She looked at him. "What sort of services?" "Church services."