The old story of the hawk and the pigeon has been told so often that the details are apt to weary. From a stake of 10 cents they rose to 50 cents and a dollar. Mr. Simmons won, of course. He had taken the bead purse out of his bag and therefrom abstracted certain silver dollars, and later on, $25 in bills. Once he held up a package from the carpet bag tied with a string and winked at the captain. "That's the nine hundred," he said. The captain won a pot occasionally, but the bulk of the money was going to Mr. Simmons, who was jubilant but sympathetic. "You're out of luck," he said jollily, but thickly. He was considerably under the influence of the beer he had drunk, to all appearances. The captain looked worried and anxious. "That's nearly all my expense money," he said moodily. "I say, Simmons, take off the limit and give a feller a chance to get even." "What's that?" asked Mr. Simmons. "You mean bet any amount we please?" "Yes." "Let 'er go," said Mr. Simmons. "Shay, zis beer (hic) make'm me shorter shick." Mr. Simmons seemed to play a very loose game, and his luck began to desert him. He lost a large portion of his winnings on an ace full, and had several fine hands beaten. In a little while his velvet was gone and the next hand lost him all his little capital. He grew more deeply flushed, and his round light eyes shone with an excited stare. He once more opened the black carpet bag, took out his pocket knife and put both hands inside. The captain heard him cut the string of the package and out came the hands grasping a mass of fives, tens and twenties. The carpet bag still kept its place in his lap. "Bring 'sh s'm beer," said Mr. Simmons, loudly. "Jolly f'ler ze captain. Play'm all night 'f wanter. 'M a little full, but bes' checker 'n poker player 'n Encinal County. Deal 'em." * * * * * Captain Richard Saxon Clancy, paymaster (?) of the M. K. & T. Railway Company, drew himself together, his time had come. The manna was about to descend. The pigeon was already fluttering in his talons. The victim was in exactly the right stage of drunkenness; enough to be reckless and not too observant, but not too much so to prevent his playing the game. The captain coughed rather loudly. One or two men strolled in from the other room and watched the game silently. The captain coughed again. A pale young man with gloomy eyes and an unhealthy-looking face lounged around somewhat back of Mr. Simmons' chair, and listlessly looked on. Every time a hand was dealt or a draw made, he would scratch his ear, touch his nose, pull his mustache or play with a button on his vest. It was strange to see how much the captain watched this young man, who certainly had nothing to do with the game. Still the captain won. When Mr. Simmons won a pot it was sure to be a small one. The captain thought the time ripe for his coup de grace. He struck the bell, and the waiter came.