My father said nothing, because there was nothing to be said, but he evidently thought the more. As for me, I could think of nothing but that curious man, and the peculiar fascination he had exercised over me.
A few days later I met him in the township. Directly he saw me he stopped his horse and entered into conversation with me.
'I have been wondering when I should see you again,' he said. 'I was beginning to be afraid you had forgotten that such a person existed.'
'I have been wanting to come up and see you,' I answered, 'but I did not like to thrust myself upon you. You might have been busy.'
'You need never be afraid of that,' he answered, with his usual queer smile. No—please come up whenever you can. I shall always be glad to see you. What do you say to Thursday evening at eight o'clock?'
I answered that I should be very glad to come, and then we separated, and I rode on to see Sheilah.
Thursday evening came, and as soon as I had my supper, I set off across the creek to the old house on the hill. It had struck eight by the time I reached it, and to my surprise I heard the sound of voices coming from the sitting-room. I knocked at the door, and a moment later it was opened by my host himself, who shook me warmly by the hand and invited me to enter. Thereupon I passed into the lamp-lit room to discover two young men of the township, Pat Doolan and James Mountain, installed there. They were making themselves prodigiously at home, as if they had been there many times before. Which I believe they had.
'I need not introduce you, I suppose?' said my host, looking round. 'You are probably well acquainted with these gentlemen.'
As I had known them all my life, played with them as children, and met them almost every day since, it may be supposed that I was.
We sat down and a general conversation ensued. After a while our host played and sang to us; drinks were served, and later on somebody—I really forget who—suggested a game of cards. The pasteboards were accordingly produced, and for the first time in my life I played for money. When, two hours later, we rose from the table, I was the winner of twenty pounds, while Pete had lost nearly fifty. I went home as happy as a man could well be, with the world in my watch pocket, not because I had won the money, but because I had been successful in something I had undertaken. How often that particular phase of vanity proves our undoing. Two evenings later I returned and won again, yet another evening, and still with the same result. Then the change came, my luck broke. I followed it up, but still lost. After that the sum I had won melted away like snow before the mid-day sun, till, on the fifth evening, I rose from the table having lost all I had previously won and fifteen pounds into the bargain. The next night I played again, hoping to retrieve my fortune, but ill-luck still pursued me, and I lost ten pounds more. This time it was much worse, for I had not enough capital by twenty pounds to meet my liabilities. I rose from the table like many another poor fool, bitterly cursing the hour I had first touched a card. The others had gone home, and when I prepared to follow them, Pete, to whom I owed the money, accompanied me into the verandah.