“What do you mean by that? I am like the rest of the fellows.”
“You wouldn’t play cards.”
“Yes, I will play cards, but I won’t gamble; and there isn’t many fellows in the company that will.”
“That’s so,” added Hapgood. “I know all about that business. When I went to Mexico, I lost my money as fast as I got it, playing cards. Don’t gamble, boys.”
“I won’t, for one,” said Tom, with emphasis.
“Are you going to set up for a soldier-saint, too?” sneered Ben, turning to the old man.
“I’m no saint, but I’ve larned better than to gamble.”
“I think you’d better stop drinking too,” added Ben.
“Come, Ben, you are meaner than dirt,” said Tom, indignantly.
Old Hapgood was a confirmed toper. The people in Pinchbrook said he was a good man, but, they used to add, with a shrug of the shoulders, “pity he drinks.” It was a sad pity, but he seemed to have no power over his appetite. The allusion of Ben to his besetting sin was cruel and mortifying, for the old man had certainly tried to reform, and since the regiment left Boston, he had not tasted the intoxicating cup. He had declared before the mess that he had stopped drinking; so his resolution was known to all his companions, though none of them had much confidence in his ability to carry it out.