Time after time the cards were laid out, played, and reshuffled.

“Now,” said the stranger, “do you think you know the game?”

“Yes,” said Lewis, “I think so.”

He played, with some success.

“You have got out fourteen cards,” said the stranger.  “You have beaten the game.”

“How can that be?” asked Lewis.

“It can be,” said the stranger, “because this is one of the few games of patience that has been reduced to a scientific gambling basis.  The odds, allowing for the usual advantage to the banker, have been determined at five to one.  Say I’m the banker.  I sell you the pack for fifty-two pennies, and I pay you five pennies for every card you get out.  Five to one.  Do you see that?”

Lewis nodded.

“Well,” said the stranger.  “You got out fourteen cards.  If you had paid a penny a card for the pack, how much would you have gained over what you spent?”

“Eighteen pennies,” said Lewis, after a moment.  “If I had got them all out,” he added, “it would have been two hundred and eight pennies.”

“Right!” said the stranger.  “You have a head for figures.  Now, have you any money?”

Lewis colored slightly.

“Yes,” he said.  He fished out his two bank-notes and laid them on the table.

The stranger picked them up.

“All right,” he said.  “I’ll sell you the pack for one of these.  Now, go ahead.”

All afternoon Lewis played against the bank with varying fortune.  When he was ahead, some instinct made him ashamed to call off; when he was behind, a fever seized him—­a fever to hold his own, to win.  His eyes began to ache.  Toward evening three successive bad hands suddenly wiped out his store of money.  A feeling of despair came over him.

“Don’t worry,” said the stranger.  He pushed the two notes and another toward Lewis.  “I’ll give you those for your pony.  Now, at it you go.  Win him back.”

Lewis played feverishly.  In an hour he had lost the three notes.

“Never mind,” said the stranger; “I’ll give you another chance.”  He pushed one of the notes toward Lewis.  “That for your bundle in the red handkerchief.  You may win the whole lot back in one hand.”

Lewis played and lost.  Despair seized upon him now with no uncertain hand.  His money, his pony, even his little bundle gone!  This was calamity.  He suffered as only the young can suffer.  His world had suddenly become a blank.  Through bloodshot eyes he looked upon the stranger and tried to hate him, but could not.

“Come,” said the stranger, rising and lighting a lantern.  “I’m going to make you a foolish offer of big odds against me.  I’ll wager all I’ve won from you against one year’s service that you can’t beat the game in one hand.  Eleven cards out of the fifty-two beats the game.”

What was a year’s service? thought Lewis.  He had been willing to give that for nothing.  He played and lost.  Suddenly shame was added to his despair.  To give service is noble, but to have it bought from you, won from you!  Lewis fought back his tears desperately.  What a fool, what a fool this man, this stranger, had made of him!