another at his right, for the other half; a third one he takes himself: he repeats the process. The croupier slips the blade of his huge paper-knife underneath the two cards which are on either side of the dealer, and deposits them, unexposed, with marvellous adroitness, before the punter on either side whose turn it is to play. Court cards and tens count as nothing, the ace as one; should the player make either eight or nine he invariably rests contented, and exhibits it; if below eight, he exercises his fancy or discretion, and takes or refuses a third card. Then Haggard turns up his own hand, doing precisely the same. He has drawn a knave and a six; he takes another card; this turns out to be an ace. "I have seven," he says. The player to his right holds eight, the player to his left has only six--the right side wins, the left side loses. In an instant the croupier, with his huge paper-knife, sweeps up the cards, and, with the rapidity of a conjuring trick, he casts them into a wooden bowl in the middle of the table; then he rapidly sweeps off all the stakes on one side of the table; with equal celerity he places each man's winnings before the players on the other side. There are no quarrels, and no mistakes. Everybody is terribly polite. And so the game goes on. Though the amount played for is serious, a good deal of rather bald conversation and chaff goes on. There is a considerable amount of give and take. If any one has lost his temper, as well as his money, he takes good care not to show it; to do so here would be indeed bad form. Young Lamb has already paid several visits to Mr. Levison's little table. Haggard's deal goes on, no very startling _coup_ coming off, but it has been a good bank as yet, for the pile in front of Haggard has increased to nearly six hundred pounds. Young Lamb having gnawed his extinguished cigar till it somewhat resembles a quid, and having consequently swallowed a considerable amount of nicotine, flings it away with a curse. As the last note of his last loan from Levison is swept up by the remorseless _pelle_ (for so the gigantic paper-knife is technically termed), Lamb gives an order to the waiter, and pays another visit to the smiling little Jew. Their business is rapidly transacted; Lamb redeems some half-dozen I O U's which he had previously given to the steward, hurriedly signs a formal-looking instrument, which is duly witnessed, and stuffs into his breast-pocket a big roll of notes, which he does not even stop to count. "I do hope you'll be careful, sir," remarks the steward to Lamb in an affectionate whisper, and in the tone of an anxious mother to her favourite child. Lamb returns to his seat at the table; he has lost eight hundred pounds already, but the bulgey lump in his breast-pocket is another five thousand pounds. The waiter places by his side a small gueridon on which is a little _carafe_ of green Chartreuse and a liqueur-glass; he also hands to the young fellow a box