The two men turned from the bar and sat down again by the stove, both getting more and more familiar and chatty.

“Suppose we try a game of dominoes or chequers?” at length suggested the friend.

“No objection,” replied Martin.  “Any thing to make the time pass agreeably.  Suppose we say chequers?”

“Very well.  Here’s a board.  We’ll go into the backroom where it’s more quiet.”

The two men retired into the little den in the rear of the bar-room, where were several parties engaged at cards or dice.

“Here’s a cozy little corner,” said the pleasant friend of Martin.  “We can be as quiet as kittens.”

“What’s the stake?” he next inquired, as soon as the board was opened and the pieces distributed.  “Shall we say a bit?”

Martin received, at the close of each day, his earnings.  Of his seventy-five cents, he had already paid out for board thirty-one and a quarter cents; and for a glass of liquor and some tobacco, six cents more.  So he had but thirty-seven and a half cents.  This sum he drew from his pocket, and counted over with scrupulous accuracy, so as to be sure of the amount.  While he was doing so, his companion’s eyes were fixed eagerly upon the small coins in his hands, in order, likewise, to ascertain their sum.

“A bit let it be.”  And the man laid down a twelve-and-a-half-cent piece.

“No!  We’ll start with a picayune,” said Martin, selecting the smaller coin and placing it on the table.

“That’s too trifling.  Say a bit,” returned the man, but half concealing the eager impatience he felt to get hold of the poor wretch’s money.

“Well, I don’t care!  Call it a bit, then,” said Martin.  And the coin was staked.

An observer would have been struck with the change that now came over Martin.  His dull eyes brightened; something like light came flashing into his almost expressionless face, and his lips arched with the influx of new life and feeling.  He moved his pieces on the board with the promptness and skill of one accustomed to the game, and, though he played with an opponent whose clearer head gave him an advantage, he yet held his own with remarkable pertinacity, and was not beaten until after a long and well-balanced struggle.  But beaten he was; and one-third of all he possessed in the world passed from his hand.

Another twelve-and-a-half-cent piece was staked, and, in like manner, lost.

“I can’t go but a picayune this time,” said Martin, when the pieces were arranged for the third game.  “My funds are getting too low.”

“Very well, a picayune let it be.  Any thing just to give a little interest to the game.  I’m sure you’ll win this time.”

And win Martin did.  This elated him.  He played another game and lost.  The next was no more successful.  Only a single picayune now remained.  For a short time he hesitated about risking this.  He wanted more liquor; and, if he lost, there would be no means left to gratify the ever burning thirst that consumed him.  Not until the close of the next day would he receive any money; and, without money, he could get nothing.  There were unpaid scores against him in a dozen shops.