“Tired, already?”
“No; but––but I haven’t a cent. That miserable table has robbed me of everything. All I have left”––piteously––“are the clothes on my back.”
“Something must have been the matter with your ‘system.’ But if a temporary loan––”
Susan was tempted, gazing longingly at the table, with the fever burning in her.
“No,” she said, finally. “I think I would win, but, of course, I might lose.”
“A wise reservation! Never place your fortune on the hazard of the die.”
“But I have! What’s the use of making good resolutions now? It’s like closing the barn-door after––”
“Just so!” he agreed. “But it might have been worse.”
“How?” In dismay. “Didn’t that stony-looking man rake in my last gold piece? He didn’t even look sorry, either. But what is the matter with your arm?” The land baron’s expression became ominous. “You shook hands with your left hand. Oh, I see; the duel!” Lightly.