“I mean,” went on Tom, “that I know what it portends. I don’t know who it’s from, and I don’t care; neither do I know what’s in it. But I do know that it calls you out——”
“Yes, I’ve got to go,” murmured Sid, as though it was a summons from fate, and he could not avoid it.
“You’ve got to do nothing of the sort!” cried Tom. “Don’t go!”
“I’ve got to, I tell you!”
“To that gambling hall? To lose your money again? Haven’t you manhood enough to say ‘no’? Can’t you stay away? Oh, Sid, why do you go? Why don’t you be fair to yourself—fair to the nine? We need you!”
Tom held out his hands appealingly. There was a mist before his eyes, and, he fancied, something glistened in those of his chum. Phil stood, a silent spectator of the little scene, and the clock ticked on relentlessly.
“Don’t you want to help us win?” asked Tom.
“You know I do!” exclaimed Sid brokenly.
“Then do it!” cried Tom, in ringing tones. “Break off this miserable life! Give up this gambling!”