But ’twere not well if long you tarried Here in my den, you know, For I’m a man sedate and married;-- Pick up your skirts and go. WAITMAN BARBE. THE GAMBLERS. The rain splashed in his face, soaked through his garments, ran down his back and trickled through his wide sleeves in an almost vindictive manner. But he shambled on indifferently, slowly and heavily, apparently totally unconscious of physical discomfort. Looking into that bald face one could not penetrate its placidity, and even the eyes seemed expressionless. The small, well-shaped hands did not look as if they were accustomed to manual labor; nevertheless his clothing consisted of the ordinary blue blouse and pantaloons of a working Chinaman, and it was a very dilapidated Yankee hat around which he had wound his queue. The peculiar means by which he prevented the last mentioned part of his costume from being blown off by the wind and rain attracted some little attention from the passers-by; but to jocose remarks and amused smiles he paid no heed. Ah Lin was proceeding to a gambling resort, and his thoughts were not with the scenes and faces about him. When he reached his destination, he slipped a key from out of his sleeve and admitted himself into a large low room furnished with a long table, a couch and some wooden chairs. Two men sat on the couch, and about a dozen were grouped around the table--all Chinamen. There was but one small window in the place, and the day being dull, the gloom of the room seemed to be made palpable and visible by the light of two oil lamps. On the window ledge was a pipe, a small lamp and a tiny porcelain cup full of jellified opium. [Illustration] One of the Chinamen arose, took the pipe, dipped a pin into the opium, turned it around until a quantity of the sticky drug adhered to it, then inserted it into the pipe, held the pipe over the flame of the lamp, and drew two or three long breaths. Here was peace and a foretaste of oblivion--a vapor was seen to exhale out of his mouth and nose. Ah Lin walked up to the smoker, and the two held a short confab. “Well,” said Ah Lin at length, “I have fifty cents left; with twenty-five cents I can draw a lot, and with the balance I will see if I can win half a dollar on a red cord stick.” “All right,” returned the smoker, “and I’ll do the same; but first let us worship the tiger.” In a corner of the room on a small table stood a wooden image of a tiger with wings grasping an immense cash between its paws. Ah Lin and Hom Lock lighted some sticks of incense and bowed themselves before the image--the Chinaman’s gambling god.