“I’ve seen youngsters smaller than you bet their pile.”

“You won’t catch me doing it.  I am a poor boy, and have nothing to lose.”

“All right, then.  You’re a country boy, ain’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So was I once, but I’ve had the greenness rubbed off’n me.  I was jest such a youngster as you once.  I wish I could go back twenty years.”

“You’re not very old yet,” said Ben, in a tone of sympathy.  “Why don’t you reform?”

“No, I’m not old-only thirty-six-and I ain’t so bad as I might be.  I’m a rough customer, I expect, but I wouldn’t do anything downright mean.  Ef you’re goin’ into this den, I’ll go with you.  I can’t take care of myself, but mayhap I can keep you out of danger.”

“Thank you, sir.”

So Ben and his new acquaintance entered the famous gambling-den.  It was handsomely furnished and decorated, with a long and gaily appointed bar, while the mirrors, pictures, glass, and silverware excited surprise, and would rather have been expected in an older city.  There were crowds at the counter, and crowds around the tables, and the air was heavy with the odor of Chinese punk, which was used for cigar-lights, The tinkle of silver coin was heard at the tables, though ounces of gold-dust were quite as commonly used in the games of chance.

“I suppose a good deal of money is won here?” said Ben, looking around curiously.

“There’s a good deal lost,” said Ben’s new acquaintance.

“Gentlemen, will you drink with me?” said a young man, with flushed face, rising from a table near-by, both hands full of silver and gold, “I’ve been lucky to-night, and it’s my treat.”

“I don’t care if I do,” said Ben’s companion, with alacrity, and he named his drink.

“What’ll the boy have?”

“Nothing, thank you,” answered Ben, startled,

“That won’t do.  I insist upon your drinking,” hiccuped the young man, who had evidently drunk freely already.  “Take it as a personal insult, if you don’t.”

“Never mind the boy,” said his new friend, to Ben’s great relief.  “He’s young and innocent.  He hasn’t been round like you an’ me.”

“That’s so,” assented the young man, taking the remark as a compliment.  “Well, here’s to you!”

“I wouldn’t have done it,” said Ben’s new friend rejoining him; “but it’ll help me to forget what a blamed fool I’ve been to-night.  You jest let the drink alone.  That’s my advice,”

“I mean to,” said Ben firmly.  “Do people drink much out here?”

“Whisky’s their nat’ral element,” said the miner.  “Some of ’em don’t drink water once a month.  An old friend of mine, Joe Granger, act’lly forgot how it tasted.  I gave him a glass once by way of a joke, and he said it was the weakest gin he ever tasted.”

“Are there no temperance societies out here?” asked Ben.

The miner laughed.

“It’s my belief that a temperance lecturer would be mobbed, or hung to the nearest lamppost,” he answered.