"A bit let it be." And the man laid down a twelve-and-a-half-cent piece.
"No! We'll start with a picayune," said Martin, selecting the smaller coin and placing it on the table.
"That's too trifling. Say a bit," returned the man, but half concealing the eager impatience he felt to get hold of the poor wretch's money.
"Well, I don't care! Call it a bit, then," said Martin. And the coin was staked.
An observer would have been struck with the change that now came over Martin. His dull eyes brightened; something like light came flashing into his almost expressionless face, and his lips arched with the influx of new life and feeling. He moved his pieces on the board with the promptness and skill of one accustomed to the game, and, though he played with an opponent whose clearer head gave him an advantage, he yet held his own with remarkable pertinacity, and was not beaten until after a long and well-balanced struggle. But beaten he was; and one-third of all he possessed in the world passed from his hand.
Another twelve-and-a-half-cent piece was staked, and, in like manner, lost.
"I can't go but a picayune this time," said Martin, when the pieces were arranged for the third game. "My funds are getting too low."
"Very well, a picayune let it be. Any thing just to give a little interest to the game. I'm sure you'll win this time."
And win Martin did. This elated him. He played another game and lost. The next was no more successful. Only a single picayune now remained. For a short time he hesitated about risking this. He wanted more liquor; and, if he lost, there would be no means left to gratify the ever burning thirst that consumed him. Not until the close of the next day would he receive any money; and, without money, he could get nothing. There were unpaid scores against him in a dozen shops.
"Try again. Don't be afraid. You're a better player than I am. You'll be sure to win. Luck lies in the last sixpence. Don't you know that?"