“Come, Mikhaïl Semenovitch, come; put up your stake!” said the officer who was cutting the cards; “I’ll bet you have brought back a lot of money.”
“Where could I have got it? On the contrary, I spent my last penny in town!”
“Really! You must have fleeced some one at Sympheropol, I’m sure!”
“What an idea!” replied Koseltzoff, not wanting his words to be believed, and unbuttoning his uniform, to be more comfortable, he took a few old cards.
“I have nothing to risk, but, devil take me! who can foresee luck? A gnat can sometimes accomplish wonders! Let’s go on drinking to keep our courage up.”
Shortly after he swallowed a second small glass of brandy, a little porter into the bargain, and lost his last three rubles, while a hundred and fifty were charged to the account of the little officer with the sweat-moistened face.
“Have the kindness to send me the money,” said the banker, interrupting the deal to look at him.
“Allow me to put off sending it until to-morrow,” replied the one addressed, rising. His hand was nervously moving in his empty pocket.
“Hum!” said the banker, spitefully throwing the last cards of the pack right and left. “We can’t play in this way,” he rejoined; “I will stop the game. It can’t be done, Zakhar Ivanovitch. We are playing cash down, and not for credit.”
“Do you distrust me? That would be strange indeed!”