"The Governor? Good heavens, no. There's not enough money in our whole family to wad a gun! They put up all they had to give me a start, and look where I have landed! Do you suppose I'd go back and ask them to put up a thousand more for my rotten foolishness?" He knotted his hands together until the nails grew white then, seeing the unenlightened face below, he added emphatically: "No, no, Tsang, no can askee!"
"How fashion you losee money!" asked Tsang.
"The money? Oh, belong gamble. Bet on ship's run. First day—win. Second day—win. Then lose, lose, keep on losing. Didn't know half the time what I was doing. To-day my settle up; no can pay office. A thousand dollars out! Lord! All same two thousand Mex', Tsang!"
An invisible calculation was made on the end of the steamer trunk by a long, pointed, fingernail, but no change of expression crossed the yellow face. For an incalculable time Tsang sat, lost in thought. All his conserved energy went to aid him in solving the problem. At last he reached a decision: this was clearly a case to be laid before the only god be knew, the god of Chance.
"Me gamble too," he said; "me no lose."
"But s'pose you had lost? S'pose you lose what no belong you? What thing you do?"
"You do all same my talkee you?" asked Tsang, for the first time lifting his eyes.
It was a slender straw, to be sure, but Reynolds grasped at it.
"What thing you mean, Tsang? What can I do?"
"Two more night' to San Flancisco," said Tsang softly; "one more bet, maybe!"