With a bound the scrivener seized the stone ball. He swung it around his head two or three times, spinning on his heel. He drew far back and came forward on the run. He let out a warning shout. He was about to make the heave when to the amazement of all, his feet slid from under him. The stone rolled harmlessly to the side of the green. The scrivener fell on his back and his heels kicked in the air. It was a ridiculous situation of course. In the beginning I was burning with anger that he should make such a show of himself. But when I considered the nature of the man, his unexpected whims and fancies, I knew that he was playing a rôle that would be wise enough in the end. When he arose he looked crestfallen. With a serious expression on his face he brushed the dirt away from his clothes. He even growled under his breath at his poor luck. Nicole was standing with his arms folded across his chest as proudly as though he were already the victor. He took forth his purse once more and held it dangling in his fingers. With a taunting sneer he winked at me and then turned to the scrivener. “Another ten?” he asked with raised brows. “You must be a rich man,” the scrivener replied. “Are you a merchant that you have so much to waste?” “I make my living from such as you,” Nicole answered, “——who think they can play—and can’t!” At this cut the scrivener flew into a rage. He threw his arms above his head and paced up and down. He jerked his fists convulsively. “It was a slip,” he cried. “Only a slip. I know I can do better than that.” He spat upon the ground as though he had finally come to a resolution. “Henri!” he cried. “Twenty crowns more!” Then in a flash to Nicole, “Have you the courage?” he demanded. In a trice the coins were on the ground, both mine and the stranger’s. Then they went at it again. At the first stroke the scrivener lagged far behind. At the second his nerves grew more collected. After a little he was skillful enough to topple over all the pins with the one try. As the game went on he began a running talk with Nicole. His voice grew high. He made light of his opponent’s efforts. He counseled him to stand this way or that. He interrupted him at the moment when he was about to cast the stone. He clapped him on the back when he made a bad play and comforted him with the hope that he would do better on the next try. In short he did all in his power to confuse him. The ruse worked well. Nicole played with a sort of canny caution. But when the scrivener had equaled his score, his nerves gave way on him. He took more time to poise himself before the cast. He fussed about to be sure of his footing. His brows narrowed and an expression of intense seriousness crossed his face.