CHAPTER XIII.—THE SOILING OF A PAGE.
It was the large room in the Kursaal assigned to the Cercle de Genève. Of the two long green tables, one was deserted and in darkness, and the other, brilliantly lighted from overhanging green shades, was surrounded by a fair number of men. Except at short intervals between the hands, a decorous silence prevailed, broken only by the stereotyped phrases, une carte, sept, neuf, baccara, marking the progress of the game. But when the hand was over, voices rose, and above them was heard the sharp click of the mother-of-pearl counters and the chink of gold and silver, as the croupier, in the middle of the table, opposite the banker, settled losses and gains. Then the croupier,—“Quarante louis dans la banque, vingt à chaque tableau. Faites vos jeux, messieurs. A cheval? Bien, monsieur. Rien ne va plus!”
And then silence again while the hand was being played.
The company was cosmopolitan; two or three elderly Genevese citizens, a sprinkling of Germans and Russians, two or three of nondescript nationality, speaking English, French, and German with equal fluency, of the swarthy, Israelitish type familiar at Monte Carlo and Aix-les-Bains, and a few English and Americans. Among the latter were Raine and Hockmaster. The American was winning heavily. When the hand had come to him, he had “passed” seven, nine, and twelve times respectively, and a little mountain of notes, fiches and gold lay before him. On a small table by his side was a tumbler of brandy and water which he replenished at intervals from the customary graduated decanter and a carafe of iced water. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes unnaturally bright, and his speech, when the croupier's spoon deposited his winnings in front of him, was somewhat exuberant and excited.
Raine, who had played very little, was neither winning nor losing. He had accompanied Hockmaster, purely for the sake of distraction, intending to while away an hour or two before bedtime. The pleasant walk along the quays to and from the Kursaal had also been an inducement. But he had sat there next to Hockmaster for several hours, interested in the game and in his companion's astonishing luck. For the wholesome-minded person, with a keen sense of life and a broad sympathy with its interests, there is ever a fascination in watching the chances of a gaming table. Fortune seems to come down and give a private exhibition of her wheel. The great universe seems to stand still for a while, and only this microcosm to be subjected to its chances.
At last he grew tired, however, and suggested to Hockmaster the reasonableness of retiring. Besides, the increasing excitement of the American led him to reflect, for the first time, upon the quantity of drink that he had consumed.
“I guess I'm going to clear out all these boys,” replied Hockmaster.
“In that case,” said Raine, rising, “I'm going home.”
The other caught him by his coat.
“Half an hour more.”