For several days afterwards Peter's scorched and swollen hand reminded him of his ingratitude, and folly. But he soon turned a deaf ear to the voice of conscience, consoling himself with the reflection: "What if they do sell up my glass-factory and everything else. Fat Ezekiel is still left to me! So long as he has money on Sundays, I shall not go without." Very good Peter! But supposing he should happen to have none at all, for once? And this is what actually came to pass. One Sunday, Peter drove to the tavern, people observing him through their windows as he passed. "There goes Gambling-Peter!" cried some; while others exclaimed: "Hullo, there's the Dance-Emperor, the rich Glass-manufacturer." But a few shook their heads, saying: "Don't be so sure about his wealth; why, everybody is talking about his debts, and it is rumoured among the townspeople that the bailiffs will soon be selling him up." Meanwhile Peter bowed proudly and gravely to those he knew, and on arriving at the tavern, alighted from his carriage, crying out: "Good evening, landlord; has Fat Ezekiel yet arrived?" To which a deep voice replied: "Just come in, Peter? Your place has been kept for you, and we have got the cards out already." Peter entered and got ready to play, well aware that Ezekiel must be well supplied with funds, for his own pockets were stuffed full with money. Having taken his seat opposite the others he began playing, now winning, and now losing; and they kept on until such a late hour that all respectable people went off home. The lamps were lighted, and still they played on, until two of the players said: "There, that's enough! we must be getting home to wife and child." But Gambling-Peter urged Fat Ezekiel to stay on. The latter was for a time unwilling, but said at last: "Well, I will just count my money, and then we will play at dice--and let the stake be five guilders, for to throw for less is child's play." He pulled out his purse and counted his money, of which he found he had nearly a hundred guilders; whereby, Peter knew at once how much he himself had in his pockets without being under the necessity of reckoning. But Ezekiel's luck had gone; exactly as he had been winning, hitherto, he now lost steadily at every throw, cursing heartily the while. If he threw a pair, Gambling-Peter followed with one, two pips higher. At length he laid his last five guilders on the table, saying: "One more throw, and if I lose, you can lend me some of your winnings, Peter, so that we can continue, for every good sportsman ought to help another." "As much as you like, even to a hundred guilders," said the Dance-Emperor, rejoicing in his luck; whereupon Fat Ezekiel shook the dice-box and threw "fifteen."