At that time Sleuth did not know that in ninety-nine genuine gambling games out of a hundred the majority of the players cannot, from financial reasons alone, afford to participate. If not openly, they take part in such games with the secret hope that they will come forth winners, and one of the bad features of it all is the fact that their winnings, when made, seldom do them any real, substantial good; for money easily acquired is rarely rated at its real value and is almost as elusive as quicksilver. The winning gambler regards his gains as “velvet,” forgetting his losses of yesterday and disregarding the assured certainty that he must lose again to-morrow or at some future time. He spends freely and foolishly, making doubly certain the time of deprivation and need which must come in future reverses. The faint clatter of dishes, coming up from the dining-room, roused Sleuth from his unpleasant reveries, and, with a strange feeling of lassitude and weariness in his limbs, he dragged himself out of bed. The night had exacted its penalty in physical enervation as well as mental torment. “No more,” he kept repeating—“no more of it for me.” Breakfast over, he was drawn by an intense desire, not unmingled with dread, to learn something of Roy Hooker’s condition. Not a word had Roy spoken after that blow, and Piper was haunted by the memory of the dazed, uncomprehending look in the boy’s eyes. “He’s probably all right now,” Sleuth told himself; but he could not dismiss the fear that Roy might not be all right. Thus worried, he found an early opportunity of getting away from the house, his footsteps leading him toward Hooker’s home. The streets of the village bore the deserted appearance usual upon Sunday morning, but to him they seemed ominously silent and lonely. The early church bells began to ring, but the sound was hateful, for it seemed to add to that oppressive loneliness. On the corner of Main and Middle streets, a block from where Hooker lived, he met Phil Springer, and a single glance told him that here was a companion in misery. For Springer also appeared downcast and troubled, and there was in his eyes an expression that told of sleep denied. “Huh-hello, Sleuthy,” faltered Phil. “What bub-brings you out so early?” “Same thing that brought you out, I guess. Heard anything from Roy?” “Not a word. You?” “No; just came from home.” “You took your chance to skin out and leave him on our hands, dud-didn’t you?” said Phil resentfully. “Cooper just mum-made me stick by till we got him home.” “That was a mean trick of mine,” admitted Piper instantly. “I’m sorry I did it, but I was nervous and excited, and I didn’t stop to think. How was he? How did he appear? Did he talk any?” “Not a word. Couldn’t seem to gug-get any sense into him. Why, Pipe, he actually acted as if he didn’t know wh-where he lived. What do you think of that?”