“I have; and the prettiest animal your eyes ever looked upon.”

“Fleet as an arrow?”

“Ay; as the very wind.  But you shall have a taste of his quality.  So come along.  Time passes.”

The two men left the tavern, and went to the stable where Carlton’s new horse was kept.  The animal was soon in harness.

Four hours afterwards, the last rays of the setting sun came through the windows of a room, in which were seated, at a table, Carlton and Wilkinson.  Liquor and glasses were on the table, and cards in the hands of the men.  Wilkinson appeared excited, but Carlton was calm and self-possessed.  The former had been drinking freely; but the latter exhibited not the smallest sign of inebriation.  A single five-dollar bill lay beside Wilkinson; a dozen bills and two gold coins were beside the other.  They were playing for the last stake.  Nervously did Wilkinson lay card after card upon the table, while, with the most perfect coolness, his adversary played his hand, a certainty of winning apparent in every motion.  And he did win.

“Curse my luck!” exclaimed Wilkinson, grinding his teeth together, as the last five-dollar bill he had with him passed into the hands of his very particular friend.

There was more than “luck” against him, if he had but known it.

“The fortune of war,” smilingly replied the winner.  “The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, you know.  You played well—­very well; never better within my knowledge.  But, as you say, luck was against you.  And, by the way, what a curious and uncertain thing this luck is!  I’ve seen men lose at every turn of the card, until they had parted with thousands; and then, on a borrowed dollar, perhaps, start again, and not only get every thing back, but break their antagonists.  This is an every-day occurrence, in fact.”

Wilkinson had risen from the table, and was pacing the room in a fretful, impatient manner.  Suddenly he stopped.  A light flashed over his face.  Then, sitting down, he snatched up a pen, and writing on a slip of paper—­“Due Andrew Carlton $20,” signed it with his name.

Carlton saw every letter and word as they left the pen, and ere the last flourish was made to the signature, had selected four five-dollar bills from the pile beside him.  Simultaneously with the motion of Wilkinson’s hand, in pushing to him this memorandum of debt, was the motion of his hand in furnishing the sum required.

“Not the man to be frightened at a little adverse fortune, I see,” remarked the cunning tempter.  “Well, I do like a man who never can acknowledge himself beaten.  The timid and easily discouraged are soon left far behind in the world’s race—­and they deserve to be.”

Wilkinson did not reply.  Another deal was made, and again the two men bent over the table in their unequal contest.

In less than half an hour, the money obtained from Carlton had gone back to him.