A Knight of the Nineteenth Century. Edward Payson Roe

unfortunate," said Mr. Ketchem, sympathetically. "There are nearly two hours yet before the train leaves, and with your disposition toward good luck tonight you could clean us out by that time, and would have to lend us enough to pay our fares to New York."

      "It's a pity to give up our sport now that we have just got warmed up to it," added Mr. Van Wink, suggestively. "Haven't you some funds about you that you can borrow for the evening—just enough to keep the game going, you know?"

      Haldane hesitated. He was not so far gone but that conscience entered an emphatic protest. The trouble was, however, that he had never formed the habit of obeying conscience, even when perfectly sober. Another influence of the past also proved most disastrous. His mother's weakness now made him weak. In permitting him to take her money without asking, she had undermined the instinct of integrity which in this giddy moment of temptation might have saved him. If he from childhood had been taught that the property of others was sacred, the very gravity of the crime to which he now was urged would have sobered and awakened him to his danger. But his sense of wrong in this had been blunted, and there was no very strong repugnance toward the suggestion.

      Moreover, his brain was confused and excited to the last degree possible in one who still continued sane and responsible. Indeed, it would be difficult to say how far he was responsible at this supreme moment of danger. He certainly had drank so much as to be unable to realize the consequences of his action.

      After a moment's hesitation, like one who feebly tries to brace himself in a swift torrent, the gambler's passion surged up against and over his feeble will—then swept him down.

CHAPTER VIII

       Table of Contents

      THEIR VICTIM

      Haldane drew an envelope from his breast-pocket, and laid it on the table, saying with a reckless laugh:

      "Well, well, as you say, there is no great harm in borrowing a little of this money, and returning it again before the evening is over. The only question is how to open this package, for if torn it may require explanations that I do not care to make."

      "We can easily manage that," laughed Ketchem; "put the package in your pocket a few moments," and he rang the bell.

      To the boy who appeared he said, "Bring us three hot whiskey punches—hot, remember; steaming hot."

      He soon reappeared with the punch, and the door was locked again.

      "Hold your package over the steam of your punch, and the gum will dissolve so that you can open and close it in a way that will defy detection."

      The suggestion was speedily carried out.

      "Now," continued Mr. Ketchem, "the punch having already served so excellent a turn, we will finish it by drinking to your good luck."

      Haldane won the first two games. This success, together with the liquor, which was strong, almost wholly dethroned his reason, and in his mad, drunken excitement he began to stake large sums. The eyes of his companions grew more wolfish than ever, and, after a significant flash toward each other, the gamblers turned fortune against their victim finally. The brandy was now placed within his reach, and under its influence Haldane threw down money at random. The first package was soon emptied. He snatched the other from his pocket and tore it open, but before its contents had likewise disappeared his head drooped upon his breast, and he became insensible.

      They watched him a moment, smiled grimly at each other, drew a long breath of relief, and, rising, stretched themselves like men who had been under a strain that had taxed them severely.

      "Half an hour yet," said Mr. Van Wink; "wish the time was up."

      "This is a heavy swag if we get off safely with it. I say, Haldane, wake up."

      But Haldane was sunk in the deepest stupor.

      "I guess it's safe enough," said Van Wink, answering Ketchem's questioning eyes.

      The latter thereupon completely emptied the remaining package of money, and replaced the two empty envelopes in Haldane's breast-pocket, and buttoned up his coat.

      With mutual glances of exultation at the largeness of the sum, they swiftly divided the spoil between them. It was agreed that after leaving the hotel they should separate, that one should go to Boston, the other to Baltimore, and that they should return to their old haunts in New York after the interest caused by the affair had died out. Then, lighting cigars, they coolly sat down to wait for the train, having first opened a window and placed Haldane where the fresh air would blow upon him.

      When the time of departure approached, Mr. Van Wink went to the bar and paid both their own and Haldane's bill, saying that they would now vacate the room. On his return Ketchem had so far aroused Haldane that he was able to leave the house with their assistance, and yet so intoxicated as to be incapable of thinking and acting for himself. They took him down a side street, now utterly deserted, and left him on the steps of a low groggery, from whence still issued the voices of some late revellers. Five minutes later the "owl train" bore from the town Messrs. Van Wink and Ketchem, who might be called with a certain aptness birds of the night and of prey.

      Haldane remained upon the saloon steps, where he had been left, blinking stupidly at a distant street lamp. He had a vague impression that something was wrong—that a misfortune of some kind had befallen him, but all was confused and blurred. He would have soon gone to sleep again had not the door opened, and a man emerged, who exclaimed:

      "Faix, an who have we here, noddin' to himself as if he knew more'n other folk? Are ye waitin' for some un to ax ye within for a comfortin' dhrop?"

      "Take me 'ome," mumbled Haldane.

      "Where's yer home?"

      "Mrs. Haldane's," answered the youth, thinking himself in his native town.

      "By me sowl, if it isn't Boss Arnot's new clerk. Sure's me name is Pat

       M'Cabe 'tis Misther Haldane. I say, are ye sick?"

      "Take me 'ome."

      "Faix, I see," winking at two or three of his cronies who had gathered at the open door; "it's a disase I'm taken wid meself at odd spells, though I takes moighty good care to kape out o' the way of ould man Arnot when I'm so afflicted. He has a quare way o' thinkin' that ivery man about him can go as rigaler as if made in a mash-shine shop, bad luck till 'im."

      Perhaps all in Mr. Arnot's employ would have echoed this sentiment, could the ill luck have blighted him without reaching them. In working his employes as he did his machinery, Mr. Arnot forgot that the latter was often oiled, but that he entirely neglected to lubricate the wills of the former with occasional expressions of kindness and interest in their welfare. Thus it came to pass that even down to poor Pat M'Cabe, man of all work around the office building, all felt that their employer was a hard, driving taskmaster, who ever looked beyond them and their interests to what they accomplished for him. The spirit of the master infused itself among the men, and the tendency of each one to look out for himself without regard to others was increased. If Pat had served a kinder and more considerate man, he might have been inclined to show greater consideration for the intoxicated youth; but Pat's favorite phrase, "Divil take the hindmost," was but a fair expression of the spirit which animated his master, and the majority in his employ. When, therefore, Haldane, in his thick, imperfect utterance, again said, "Take me 'ome," Pat concluded that it would be the best and safest course for himself. Helping the young man to his feet he said:

      "Can ye walk? Mighty onstiddy on yer pins; but I'm athinkin' I can get ye to the big house afore mornin'. Should I kape ye out o' the way till ye get sober, and ould man Arnot find it out, I'd be in the street meself widout a job 'fore he ate his dinner. Stiddy now; lean aginst me, and don't wabble yer legs so."

      With like exhortations the elder and more wary disciple of Bacchus disappeared with his charge in the gloom of the night.