"G, G. Again G. It's extraordinary," said the boys, scratching their heads and again opening their purses.
The game grew more exciting. The players grew hot, staked their money, crushed one another, and dug one another in the ribs to get nearer the table, and called each other peculiar names—"Black Tom-cat! Creased Cap! Split Coat!" and the like. They did not see the teacher standing behind them, in his woollen cap and coat, and carrying his "Tallis" and "Tephilin" under his arm. He was going to the synagogue to say his prayers, and seeing the crowd of excited boys, he drew near to watch the play. This day he does not interfere. It is "Chanukah." We are free for eight days on end, and may play as much as we like. But we must not fight, nor pull one another by the nose. The teacher's wife took her sickly child in her arms, and stood at her husband's shoulder, watching the boys risk their money, and how Benny took on all the bets. Benny was excited, burning, aflame, ablaze. He twirled the top. It spun round and round, wobbled and fell down.
"G all over again. It's a regular pantomime."
Benny showed us his smartness and his quick-wittedness so long, until our pockets were empty. He thrust his hands in his pockets, as if challenging us—"Well, who wants more?"
We all went home. We carried away with us the heartache and the shame of our losses. When we got home, we had to tell lies to account for the loss of the money we had been given in honour of "Chanukah." One boy confessed he had spent his on locust-beans. Another said the money had been stolen out of his pocket the previous night. A third came home crying. He said he had bought himself a pocket-knife. Well, why was he crying? He had lost the knife on his way home.
I told my mother a fine story—a regular "Arabian Nights" tale, and got out of her a second "Chanukah" present of ten "groschens." I ran off with them to Benny, played for five minutes, lost to him, and flew back home, and told my mother another tale. In a word, brains were at work and heads were busy inventing lies. Lies flew about like chaff in the wind. And all our "Chanukah" money went into Benny's pockets, and was lost to us for ever.
One of the boys became so absorbed in the play that he was not satisfied to lose only his "Chanukah" money, but went on gambling through the whole eight days of the festival.
And that boy was no other than myself, "the widow's son."
. . . . .
You must not ask where the widow's boy got the money to play with. The great gamblers of the world who have lost and won fortunes, estates and inheritances—they will know and understand. Woe is me! May the hour never be known on which the evil spirit of gambling takes hold of one! There is nothing too hard for him. He breaks into houses, gets through iron walls, and does the most terrible thing imaginable. It's a name to conjure with—the spirit of gambling.