Purvis had been a close spectator of all that went on this unlucky evening, and was actually occupied with his pencil in calculating the losses when Peter entered the room.
“He had above eighteen or twenty bank-notes of a th-thousand francs,” cried he, “when he be-be-began the evening. They are all gone now. He played at least a dozen 'rouleaux' of fifty Naps.; and as to the bag, I can m-make no guess how m-m-much it held.”
“I 'll tell you then, sir,” said Peter, good-humoredly, as he just overheard the last remark. “The bag held three hundred and eighty Napoleons; and as you 're pretty correct in the other items, you 'll not be far from the mark by adding about fifty or sixty Naps, for little bets here and there.”
“What coolness, what stoical indifference!” whispered Mrs. Ricketts to Martha, but loud enough for Dalton to hear. “That is so perfectly Irish; they can be as impetuous as the Italian, and possess all the self-restraint and impassive bearing of the Indian warrior.”
“But w-w-why did you go on, when luck was a-a-gainst you?”
“Who told me it was against me till I lost all my money?” cried Dalton. “If the first reverse was to make a man feel beat, it would be a very cowardly world, Mr. Purvis.”
“Intensely Irish!” sighed Mrs. Ricketts.
“Well, maybe it is,” broke in Peter, who was not in a mood to accept anything in a complimentary sense. “Irish it may be; and as you remarked a minute ago, we're little better than savages—”
“Oh, Mr. Dalton,——dear Mr. Dalton!”
“No matter; I'm not angry, ma'am. The newspapers says as bad,—ay, worse, every day of the week. But what I 'm observing is, that the man that could teach me how to keep my money could never have taught me how to win it You know the old proverb about the 'faint heart, 'Mr. Purvis?”