The guard at the gate let them out, and Elliott resolved to take precautions against his protégé’s returning to the game.
“You see this Sahib?” he said to the coolie. “Him have lost allee cash. You no pay him go inside no more, savvy? No more cash, him makee plenty bobbery. You savvy?”
“Savvy plenty, master,” replied the coolie, with a knowing grin.
“You’ll thank me for this to-morrow, if you don’t now,” said Elliott. “Where do you intend to go?”
The old man made no immediate answer, but he leaned limply on Elliott’s arm, apparently in a state of nervous collapse. Unexpectedly he turned away, hid his face in his hands against the white wall of the house, and began to sob.
“Oh, here! This won’t do. Confound it, man, brace up! Don’t break down before a Chinaman,” cried Elliott, irritated and sorry.
“I have fallen again!” moaned the gambler, hysterically. “I am vile—yes, steeped in sin. Forty-seven pounds gone in an hour! And my one hope was to live a life that would tell for the Cross in this pagan land. I am weak, weak as water, and I have taken my child’s bread and cast it unto the dogs. They robbed me. My God, why hast thou forsaken me? I hoped to win ten times my money—I needed it so!”
Elliott seized him by the arm and dragged him down the street in the ivory moonlight. The old man’s face was ivory-white, and great tears trickled from the faded blue eyes.
“Don’t touch me,—I am not fit for you to touch me! I never gambled before. If I only had it back again—forty-seven pounds—two months’ savings. I will get it back. Let me go. I will win this time!”
“You’ll get a knife in your back if you go there again. I’ve left word to keep you out. For heaven’s sake, keep cool!” implored Elliott, in great distress. He had never seen an old man break down before. It wrung his heart, and he made a clumsy attempt at consolation.