“Really?” asked every one at once.
“Yes, indeed. I know it for a fact; he joined the Lodge this summer.”
“Perhaps he makes his living from that,” said the fat gentleman.
“No one makes a living from that,” replied the short man with a laugh. “It occurred to me when I was a student in Madrid to become a Mason, and do you know what happened? They carried me about from one place to another with my eyes bandaged, and ended by taking five dollars away from me.”
Every one laughed. At this point a young man entered and stretched out in an arm chair with an air of deep gloom.
“What’s up, Manolillo?” asked the bald-headed man.
“Nothing. Quentin is upstairs plucking everybody. If he quits in time, he’s going to come out ahead; if he stays in, he may lose everything.”
As Springer, who heard this, was a man of good intentions and a loyal friend, he arose, threw his paper upon the table, left the salon, went through a gallery paved with marble, up a flight of stairs, and entered the gambling hall.
Quentin was dealing; he had a pile of bills and gold coins before him. Springer went up to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder. Quentin turned.
“What is it?”