“That’s your share, sonny,” he whispered.

“Share—­for what?” stammered the astounded Clarence.

“For bringing me ‘the luck,’” said the man.

Clarence stared.  “Am I—­to—­to play with it?” he said, glancing at the coins and then at the table, in ignorance of the stranger’s meaning.

“No, no!” said the man hurriedly, “don’t do that.  You’ll lose it, sonny, sure!  Don’t you see, you bring the luck to others, not to yourself.  Keep it, old man, and run home!”

“I don’t want it!  I won’t have it!” said Clarence with a swift recollection of the manipulation of his purse that morning, and a sudden distrust of all mankind.

“There!” He turned back to the table and laid the money on the first vacant card he saw.  In another moment, as it seemed to him, it was raked away by the dealer.  A sense of relief came over him.

“There!” said the man, with an awed voice and a strange, fatuous look in his eye.  “What did I tell you?  You see, it’s allus so!  Now,” he added roughly, “get up and get out o’ this, afore you lose the boots and shirt off ye.”

Clarence did not wait for a second command.  With another glance round the room, he began to make his way through the crowd towards the front.  But in that parting glance he caught a glimpse of a woman presiding over a “wheel of fortune” in a corner, whose face seemed familiar.  He looked again, timidly.  In spite of an extraordinary head-dress or crown that she wore as the “Goddess of Fortune,” he recognized, twisted in its tinsel, a certain scarlet vine which he had seen before; in spite of the hoarse formula which she was continually repeating, he recognized the foreign accent.  It was the woman of the stage-coach!  With a sudden dread that she might recognize him, and likewise demand his services “for luck,” he turned and fled.

Once more in the open air, there came upon him a vague loathing and horror of the restless madness and feverish distraction of this half-civilized city.  It was the more powerful that it was vague, and the outcome of some inward instinct.  He found himself longing for the pure air and sympathetic loneliness of the plains and wilderness; he began to yearn for the companionship of his humble associates—­the teamster, the scout Gildersleeve, and even Jim Hooker.  But above all and before all was the wild desire to get away from these maddening streets and their bewildering occupants.  He ran back to the baker’s, gathered his purchases together, took advantage of a friendly doorway to strap them on his boyish shoulders, slipped into a side street, and struck out at once for the outskirts.