The Swindler and Other Stories | Page 3

he was seated in the saloon
with three or four men older than himself, playing and losing, playing
and losing, with almost unvarying monotony, yet with a feverish relish
that had in it something tragic.
He was only three-and-twenty, and, as he was wont to remark, ill-luck
dogged him persistently at every turn. He never blamed himself when
rash speculations failed, and he never profited by bitter experience.
Simply, he was by nature a spendthrift, high-spirited, impulsive, weak,
with little thought for the future and none at all for the past. Wherever
he went he was popular. His gaiety and spontaneity won him favour.
But no one took him very seriously. No one ever dreamed that his
ill-luck was a cause for anything but mirth.
A good deal of money had changed hands when the party separated to
dine, but, though young Bathurst was as usual a loser, he displayed no
depression. Only, as he sauntered away to his cabin, he flung a
laughing challenge to those who remained:
"See if I don't turn the tables presently!"

They laughed with him, pursuing him with chaff till he was out of
hearing. The boy was a game youngster, and he knew how to lose.
Moreover, it was generally believed that he could afford to pay for his
pleasures.
But a man who met him suddenly outside his cabin read something
other than indifference upon his flushed face. He only saw him for an
instant. The next, Archie had swung past and was gone, a clanging door
shutting him from sight.
When the little knot of cardplayers reassembled after dinner their
number was augmented. A short, broad-shouldered man, clean-shaven,
with piercing blue eyes, had scraped acquaintance with one of them,
and had accepted an invitation to join the play. Some surprise was felt
among the rest, for this man had till then been disposed to hold aloof
from his fellow-passengers, preferring a solitary cigarette to any
amusements that might be going forward.
A New York man named Rudd muttered to his neighbour that the
fellow might be all right, but he had the eyes of a sharper. The
neighbour in response murmured the words "private detective" and
Rudd was relieved.
Archie Bathurst was the last to arrive, and dropped into the place he
had occupied all the afternoon. It was immediately facing the stranger,
whom he favoured with a brief and somewhat disparaging stare before
settling down to play.
The game was a pure gamble. They played swiftly, and in silence. West
seemed to take but slight interest in the issue, but he won steadily and
surely. Young Bathurst, playing feverishly, lost and lost, and lost again.
The fortunes of the other four players varied. But always the newcomer
won his ventures.
The evening was half over when Archie suddenly and loudly demanded
higher stakes, to turn his luck, as he expressed it.
"Double them if you like," said West.

Rudd looked at him with a distrustful eye, and said nothing. The other
players were disposed to accede to the boy's vehement request, and
after a little discussion the matter was settled to his satisfaction. The
game was resumed at higher points.
Some onlookers had drawn round the table scenting excitement. Archie,
sitting with his back to the wall, was playing with headlong
recklessness. For a while he continued to lose, and then suddenly and
most unexpectedly he began to win. A most rash speculation resulted in
his favour, and from that moment it seemed that his luck had turned.
Once or twice he lost, but these occasions were far outbalanced by
several brilliant coups. The tide had turned at last in his favour.
He played as a man possessed, swiftly and feverishly. It seemed that he
and West were to divide the honours. For West's luck scarcely varied,
and Rudd continued to look at him askance.
For the greater part of an hour young Bathurst won with scarcely a
break, till the spectators began to chaff him upon his outrageous
success.
"You'd better stop," one man warned him. "She's a fickle jade, you
know, Bathurst. Take too much for granted, and she'll desert you."
But Bathurst did not even seem to hear. He played with lowered eyes
and twitching mouth, and his hands shook perceptibly. The gambler's
lust was upon him.
"He'll go on all night," murmured the onlookers.
But this prophecy was not to be fulfilled.
It was a very small thing that stemmed the racing current of the boy's
success--no more than a slight click audible only to a few, and the
tinkle of something falling--but in an instant, swift as a thunderbolt, the
wings of tragedy swept down upon the little party gathered about the
table.

Young Bathurst uttered a queer, half-choked exclamation, and dived
downwards. But the man next to