"Never mind, Brayton, you'll get it back to-morrow," said Winchester, as they parted.
So Ben thought, and the furor of gaming had already taken such possession of him that he got up unusually early, anxious to get at the fascinating game.
So matters went on for a week. They never exceeded one dollar as stakes, and played so even that Ben was only ten dollars behindhand. This he paid from his allowance, and so far from being satiated with the game could hardly restrain his impatience till Monday morning should give him a chance of playing again.
It is perhaps needless to say that Ben had fallen into dangerous company. Mr. Arthur Winchester was really a far superior player, and eventually meant to fleece Ben out of his last dollar. But he did not wish to arouse suspicion of his intentions, and "played off," as the saying is, and thus had no difficulty in luring Ben on to the point at which he aimed.
At the end of the second week Ben was only five dollars behind.
"You're gaining upon me," said Winchester. "You're improving in your play."
"Am I?" said Ben, flattered.
"Not a doubt of it. I don't like to boast, but I am considered a first-class player in the city, and, by Jove, you're almost even with me."
Ben listened with gratification to this praise. He didn't doubt that Winchester was the first-class player he represented, and in fact he was a superior player, but he had never yet put forth his utmost skill. He had only played with Ben, suiting himself to his inferior style of playing.
Gradually Winchester suggested higher play.