He had gambled when a child in the nursery, or had tried to gamble, for cakes and toys.  He had gambled when at school for coppers, pocket-knives, and marbles.  He had gambled when at the University, and had felt the claws of the Children of Usury.  He gambled away his nine thousand pounds, or such remainder of it as had not been forestalled, when he came of age.  Later on, when in the army, and on home allowance again, for his father would not let him starve, he had kept on gambling; so that when, some five years later, his father died, and he dropped in for the “something handsome,” two-thirds of it had to be paid down on the nail to make a free man of him again.  On the remaining one-third he contrived to keep afloat for a couple of years longer; then, after a season of heavy losses, came the final crash, and Captain Ducie found himself under the necessity of selling his commission, and of retiring into private life.

From this date Captain Ducie was compelled to live by “bleeding” his friends and connections.  He was a great favourite among them, and they rallied gallantly to his rescue.  But Ducie still gambled; and the best of friends, and the most indulgent of relatives, grew tired after a time of seeing their cherished gold pieces slip heedlessly through the fingers of the man whom it was intended that they should substantially help, and be lost in the foul atmosphere of a gaming-house.  One by one, friend and relative dropped away from the doomed man, till none were left.  Little by little the tide of fortune ebbed away from his feet, leaving him stranded high and dry on the cruel shore of impecuniosity, hemmed in by a thousand debts, with the gaunt wolf of beggary staring him in the face.

There was one point about Captain Ducie’s gambling that redounded to his credit.  No one ever suspected him of cheating.  His “run of luck” was so uniformly bad, despite a brief fickle gleam of fortune now and again, which seemed sent only to lure him on to deeper destruction; it was so well known that he had spent two fortunes and alienated all his friends through his passion for the green cloth, that it would have been the height of absurdity to even suspect him of roguery.  Indeed, “Ducie’s luck” was a proverbial phrase at the whist-tables of his club.  He was not a “turf” man, and had no knowledge of horses beyond that legitimate knowledge which every soldier ought to have.  His money had all been lost either at cards or roulette.  He was one of the most imperturbable of gamblers.  Whatever the varying chances of the game might be, no man ever saw him either elated or depressed:  he fought with his vizor down.

No man could be more aware of his one besetting weakness, nor of his inability to conquer it, than was Captain Ducie.  When he could no longer muster five pounds to gamble with, he would gamble with five shillings.  There was a public-house in Southwark to which, poorly dressed, he sometimes went when his funds were low.  Here, unknown to the police, a little quiet gambling for small stakes went on from night to night.  But however small might be the amount involved, there was the passion, the excitement, the gambling contagion, precisely as at Homburg or Baden; and these it was that made the very salt of Captain Ducie’s life.