“He wins!” panted an excited man.
The ball had bobbed out of its pocket and spun on again.
“Lost!” was the cry, as it finally settled and rested securely in a pocket.
Wiley swallowed down a lump in his throat as the man behind the table raked in the wager.
“Excuse me,” said the sailor, rising. “I hope you will pardon me while I go drown myself. Can any one direct me to a tub of tanglefoot?”
As he left the table, knowing now that it would cause no disturbance, Frank grasped his arm and again advised him to leave the place.
“I admit to you,” said Wiley, “that I was mistaken when I stated that I had a mash on Dame Fortune. I have discovered that it was her daughter, Miss Fortune. Leave me—leave me to my fate! I shall now attempt to lap up all the liquids in the place, and in the morning I’ll have a large aching head.”
Frank insisted, however, and his command led Wiley reluctantly to permit them to escort him from the place.
“I might read you a lecture on the evils of gambling, cap’n,” said Merry; “but I shall not do so to-night. It strikes me that you have learned your lesson.”