The philosophic Smithie extended his arm across the table collecting the cards to deal them, for the “hand” was finished. “Yes, sir, it’s funny,” he repeated. “Nobody knows exactly what luck is, but the way I guess it out, it lays in a man’s _believin’_ he’s in luck, and some little object like this makes him kind of concentrate his mind on thinkin’ he’s goin’ to be lucky, because of course you often _know_ you’re goin’ to win, and then you do win. You don’t win when you _want_ to win, or when you need to; you win when you believe you’ll win. I don’t know who it was that said, ‘Money’s the root of all evil’; but I guess he didn’t have _too_ much sense! I suppose if some man killed some other man for a dollar, the poor fish that said that would let the man out and send the dollar to the chair----” But here this garrulous and discursive guest was interrupted by immoderate protests from several of his colleagues. “Cut it out!” “My Lord!” “_Do_ something!” “Smith_ie_! Are you ever goin’ to _deal_?” “I’m goin’ to shuffle first,” he responded, suiting the action to the word, though with deliberation, and at the same time continuing his discourse. “It’s a mighty interesting thing, a piece o’ money. You take this dollar, now: Who’s it belonged to? Where’s it been? What different kind o’ funny things has it been spent for sometimes? What funny kind of secrets do you suppose it could ’a’ heard if it had ears? Good people have had it and bad people have had it: why, a dollar could tell more about the human race--why, it could tell _all_ about it!” “I guess it couldn’t tell all about the way you’re dealin’ those cards,” said the man with the green shade. “You’re mixin’ things all up.” “I’ll straighten ’em all out then,” said Smithie cheerfully. “They say, ‘Money talks.’ Golly! If it _could_ talk, what couldn’t it tell? _No_body’d be safe. _I_ got this dollar now, but who’s it goin’ to belong to next, and what’ll _he_ do with it? And then after _that_! Why, for years and years and years, it’ll go on from one pocket to another, in a millionaire’s house one day, in some burglar’s flat the next, maybe, and in one person’s hand money’ll do good, likely, and in another’s it’ll do harm. We all _want_ money; but some say it’s a bad thing, like that dummy I was talkin’ about. Lordy! Goodness or badness, I’ll take all anybody----” He was interrupted again, and with increased vehemence. Collinson, who sat next to him, complied with the demand to “ante up,” then placed the dollar near his little cylinder of chips, and looked at his cards. They proved unencouraging, and he turned to his neighbour. “I’d sort of like to have that marked dollar, Smithie,” he said. “I’ll give you a paper dollar, Smithie,” he said. “I’ll give you a paper dollar and a nickel for it.” But Smithie laughed, shook his head and slid the coin over toward his own chips. “No, sir. I’m goin’ to keep it--awhile, anyway.” “So you do think it’ll bring you luck, after all!”