"What next?" he said aloud, as if speaking to some one else. Receiving no answer, he turned instinctively toward his gambling house, and went stumbling along through the deserted streets. What is a man, after all, but a stumbling machine? Progress is made by falling forward over obstacles! The poor stumbler tottered across his own threshold into that brilliant room where he had always received an enthusiastic welcome, but which he had not visited since his sickness. If ever a man needed kindness and encouragement it was he; but his sensitive spirit instantly discovered that all was changed. His superstitious companions had not forgotten the broken glass, and had heard of his subsequent calamities. With them the lucky alone were the adorable! The gods of the temples of fortunes are easily and quickly dethroned and the worshipers had already prostrated themselves before other shrines. The coldness of his greeting sent a chill to his already benumbed heart and increased his desperation. He was nervous, excited, depressed, and feeling the need of something to distract his thought from his troubles, he sat down and began to play; but from the first deal he lost--lost steadily and heavily. The habitués of the place exchanged significant glances as much as to say, "I told you so!" Whispered phrases passed from lip to lip. "He is playing wild." "He has lost his nerve." "His luck has turned." And so indeed it had! Within a few short hours he had staked his entire fortune and lost it. It had gone as easily and as quickly as it had come. "I guess that is about all," he said, pushing himself wearily back from the table at which he had just parted with the title to his desolated home. "Shall I stake you, Davy?" asked one of his friends, touched by the pathos of the haggard face and hopeless voice. "No," he answered, rising. "I have played enough. I am going away. Good-bye, boys." Without another word, he left them and passed out of the door. "Good-bye," they cried, as he vanished, scarcely raising their eyes from the tables. Even in a crowd like that there will generally be found some heart which still retains its tenderness. The young man who had offered to stake him, followed the ruined gambler into the street. "Where are you going, old man?" he said kindly, slipping his hand through David's arm. "I don't know," he answered absently. "Are you dead broke, Davy?" "Dead broke," in a lifeless echo. "Will you accept a little loan? You can't go far without money." "It's no use." "Take it! I wouldn't have had it if it hadn't been for you, and I won't have it long whether you take it or not." As he spoke he slipped a roll of bills into his friend's pocket. "Thanks!" said David. "Don't mention it," he replied. "Good-bye." "Good-bye."