Sam and I parted the best of friends, and, I need not say, on the best of terms I could get.  I knew him for many years after this incident, and say to his credit that, although he was sometimes hard with customers, he acted, from all one ever heard, strictly in accordance with the bargain he made, whatever it might be; and what is more singular than all, I never heard of old Sam Linton getting into trouble.

CHAPTER X.

WHY I GAVE OVER CARD-PLAYING.

Like most men who are not saints, I had the natural instinct for gambling, without any passion for it; but soon found the necessity for suppressing my inclination for cards, lest it should interfere with my legitimate profession.  It was necessary to abandon the indulgence, or abandon myself to its temptations.

I owe my determination never to play again at cards to the bad luck which befell me on a particular occasion at Ascot on the Cup Day of the year 18—.  I was at that time struggling to make my way in my profession, and carefully storing up my little savings for the proverbial rainy day.

Having been previously to the Epsom summer races, and had such extraordinary good luck, nothing but a severe reverse would have induced me to take the step I did.  Good luck is fascinating, and invariably leads us on, with bad luck sometimes close behind.

I went to Epsom with my dear old friend Charley Wright, and we soon set to work in one of the booths to make something towards our fortunes at rouge et noir.  The booth was kept by a man who seemed—­to me, at all events—­to be the soul of honour.  I had no reason to speak otherwise than well of him, for I staked a half-crown on the black, and won two half-crowns every time, or nearly every time.

I thought it a most excellent game, and with less of the element of chance or skill in it than any game I ever played.  My pockets were getting stuffed with half-crowns, so that they bulged, and caused me to wonder if I should be allowed to leave the racecourse alive, for there were many thieves who visited the Downs in those days.

But my friend Charley was with me, and I knew he would be a pretty trustworthy fellow in a row.  This, however, was but a momentary thought, for I was too much engrossed in the game and in my good luck to dwell on possibilities.  Nor did I interest myself in Charley’s proceedings, but took it for granted that a game so propitious to me was no less so to him.  He was playing with several others; who or what they were was of no moment to me.  I pursued my game quietly, and picked up my half-crowns with great gladness and with no concern for those who had lost them.

Presently, however, my attention was momentarily diverted by hearing Charley let off a most uncontrollable “D—­n!”

“What’s the matter, Charley?” I asked, without lifting my head.

“Matter!” says Charley; “rooked—­that’s all!”