To his right, as he entered, was the centre of interest. Indeed, it seemed to be the only point of interest. The windows had heavy double hangings before them, which accounted for Sally's impression of the house. Directly before these windows and taking up almost the whole width of the room stood a large table. About this table were seated a dozen men or more, old, middle-aged, and young, every one of them so intent on the play that they noticed nothing else. About the seated men, in turn, were other men, two or three deep, equally intent, standing and carefully noting upon large cards which they held every card that the dealer exposed from the box before him. I regret that I am unable to explain more fully the mysteries of this system of scoring. In some way, which I do not understand, this method of keeping score was supposed to give some clue to the way in which the cards were running on that particular night and to aid each scorer in the development of his "system," which, as the merest tyro knows, will inevitably break the bank sooner or later;--usually later. The house supplied the score cards. They found the method a very satisfactory one.

By this time Eugene's heart had almost ceased its palpitation and he could look about with some approach to calmness at the group around the table. Curiously, he scanned the faces of the players. At the turn of the table, to the right of the dealer, sat an elderly man, perhaps nearing sixty, with a singularly peaceful countenance. He won or lost with the same indifference, only putting up a hand, now and then, to stroke his white mustache and glancing, sympathetically, Spencer thought, at the only really young men playing. There were two of them who were hardly more than boys, and this man seemed to be more interested in their play than in his own. At the dealer's left sat a man who might be anywhere from thirty-five to fifty, with a clean-shaven and handsome clean cut face. He looked as distinguished in his way as the elderly man of the white mustache and the peaceful countenance did in his. He smiled as quietly when he lost as when he won. Both men were very attractive and not the type of man you would expect to find in such a place. The other men there were not attractive. They were of no particular age and of no distinction whatever; the type of man that you pa.s.s on the street a hundred times a day without a second glance--if you have given the first. There was a perennial frown upon their foreheads and their lips were tightly closed and they were intent on nothing but their play. Altogether, the less said about those men, the better.

The first of the two young men mentioned was sitting at the turn of the table diagonally opposite the elderly man and nearest Eugene, so that his face was not visible. But his shoulders were expressive and he was beginning to fidget in his chair; and when, once or twice, he half turned his head Eugene could see the growing expression of disgust upon his face. As the young fellow looked more and more disgusted, the elderly man smiled the more and stroked his white mustache and gazed at him, to the neglect of his cards, and once in a while he glanced at the other young fellow.

That other young fellow, as we know, was Charlie Ladue. He sat directly opposite the dealer. His face was flushed with the excitement of play, to which he was giving all his attention. Eugene could not see his eyes, which never wandered from the straight line in front of him, from his cards to the dealer; but he could imagine the feverish brightness that shone from them. He wondered how the dealer liked the constant contemplation of that sight; how it pleased him that he could not look up without encountering those eyes of Charlie Ladue fixed upon him.

The dealer seemed to like it well enough; he seemed to like it uncommonly well. Spencer transferred his gaze from Charlie to the dealer. There was nothing interesting about Charlie--to him, at least; nothing sad in his present situation except as it concerned Sally. The dealer was different, and Eugene found himself fascinated in watching him.

It was impossible to guess his age. He might have been anywhere from forty to sixty and must have been a handsome man when he was young--whenever that was. He was a good-looking man yet, but there was something sinister about him. His face was deeply lined, but not with the lines of age or pain or of contentment or good nature. The lines in a man's face will tell their story of his life to him who can read them. Insensibly, they tell their story to him who cannot read them.

Eugene could not; but he felt the story and was at once fascinated and repelled. He could not take his eyes off that dealer's face; and the longer he looked the more strongly he was impressed with a vague recollection. It might be only of a dream, or of a dim resemblance to some one that he knew. He had the curious sense, which comes to all of us on occasion, of having lived that very moment in some previous incarnation, perhaps of knowing exactly what was going to happen next.

Not that anything in particular did happen. I would not willingly raise expectations which must be disappointed.

The dealer had always seemed to look at Charlie Ladue with interest; with as much interest as he ever showed in anything--much more, indeed, than he showed in anything or in anybody else. Charlie himself had noted that, and although he never spoke,--at least, Charlie had never heard him utter a word beyond what were absolutely necessary to his duties,--there was something compelling in his eye which always met Charlie's look as it was raised slowly from his cards, as if there were some mysterious bond of fellowship between them. Rarely he had smiled. But that was a mistake. It always made Charlie wish that he hadn't. Charlie had not noticed, perhaps, that it was always on the rare occasions when he won that the dealer had ventured upon that faint smile which was so disagreeable. When he lost, which happened more frequently,--very much more frequently,--the dealer expressed no emotion whatever, unless a slight compression of his thin lips could be called an expression of emotion.

There was a stir among the persons about the table; among those sitting and among those standing. The disgusted young fellow got up quickly and one of the scorers as quickly took the chair he had left.

The boy breathed a deep sigh of relief as he pa.s.sed close to Eugene.

"h.e.l.l!" he exclaimed under his breath. It was more to himself than to anybody else, although, catching Eugene's eye, he smiled. "They call that sport!"

The elderly man with the white mustache smiled peacefully and got up, too, and joined the boy.

"Had enough, Harry?"

Harry turned a face filled with disgust. "Enough!" he said. "I should think I had. It will last me all my life." He repressed his feelings with an effort. "Did you win, Uncle Don?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Uncle Don replied quietly. "I didn't keep track. Did you?"

"No, thank G.o.d!" he answered fervently. "I lost. And I feel as though I had nearly lost my self-respect, too. I want a Turkish bath."

"All right," returned his uncle quickly. "So do I. And I've no doubt that Frank does." He turned and beckoned to the man who had been sitting at the dealer's left. He had already risen and was standing behind his chair, idly watching the readjustment, and he came at once.

"We're going to Ben's, Frank. Harry wants a bath."

"Good!" said Frank with his ready smile. "Something that will get right into your soul, eh, Harry? Come on, Don."

Uncle Don had turned for a last look at the players. "It was a somewhat dangerous experiment," he remarked, "and one that I should never dare to try with that other boy there. He ought to be hauled out of the game by the collar and spanked and sent to bed without his dinner--to say nothing of baths. Well, we can't meddle. Come on." And Uncle Don took one of Harry's arms and Frank took the other and they went out.

Eugene was reminded of his duty. If he was to haul Charlie out of the game by the collar he must be quick about it. He wormed his way among the scorers and touched Charlie on the shoulder. Charlie started and looked up somewhat fearfully.

Spencer bent over him. "Come, Charlie," he said.

If either of them had noticed, they would have seen a faint flicker of interest in the eyes of the dealer. But they were not looking at the dealer. Charlie was relieved to see who it was. He had been afraid that it was some one else--the police, perhaps.

"Let me alone, Spencer," he replied disdainfully. "If you think that I'm coming now, you're greatly mistaken. In a couple of hours, perhaps."

Eugene bent farther over. "Sally's waiting for you outside." He spoke very low; it was scarcely more than a whisper. But the dealer must have heard, for the interest in his eyes was more than a flicker now.

In Charlie's eyes there was a momentary fear. It was but momentary.

He laughed nervously. "I hope she won't get tired of waiting." He shook his head. "I won't come now."

Eugene bent lower yet. "She told me to tell you that she should wait until you did."

The dealer was waiting for them. There was a flash of irritation in Charlie's eyes and he turned to the table. "Go to the devil!" he said.

There was a snicker from some of those seated about the table. Eugene reddened and drew back and the game went on.

CHAPTER XXIV

It was a very lonely time that Sally had, standing there, leaning against the tree-guard and looking up and down the deserted street.

The houses seemed to be all asleep or deserted as well as the street.

She wondered idly what they were used for; then she thought that it was as well that she did not know, judging from the one of them that she did know about. What would the builders of those houses think if they could come back and see the uses to which their dignified old homes had been put?

She glanced up and down the street again. Yes, it seemed to be entirely deserted. She did not see the figure which lurked in the shadows on the other side. She had said that she would be all right; that she was not afraid. Well, she was not afraid, but she was getting just a bit nervous. She wished that Eugene would hurry with Charlie.

She could not stand by that tree any longer anyway. She began to walk slowly up and down, watching the door out of which she expected Jane and Charlie to appear at any moment, and she wondered what she should say to Charlie. She had no set speech prepared. What was there to say that could possibly do any good? Probably she would say nothing at all and they would set off in silence, all three, to their hotel. She had other thoughts, too, but they need not concern us now. We are not thinking of Fox Sanderson and his silly speeches nor of Henrietta and her contentment; for she ought to be contented if ever a girl was.

Sally's eyes filled with tears and her thoughts insensibly drifted away from Charlie and Jane as she paced slowly to and fro. And that lurking figure across the street was never very far away.

The sound of a door shutting reverberated after the manner of all sounds in that street and there were voices. Sally had turned at the sound of the door. Somebody was coming out of the house and she hurried forward and stopped short. The figure on the other side of the street started forward and stopped short also. There were three men coming out, and the joyous voices were not Jane's and Charlie's. Their voices would not be joyous--if they spoke at all. The three men pa.s.sed her, arm in arm, and they looked at her curiously as they pa.s.sed and the hand of the oldest instinctively went to his hat. Sally saw that he was an elderly man with a pleasant face and that his mustache was snow-white. They had got but a few steps beyond when their pace slackened and this man seemed to hesitate. He looked back at her doubtfully. Then he sighed and the three resumed their brisk walk.

"No use," he said. "Can't meddle. I wish I could. No good comes of it."

Once more Sally took up her slow walk to and fro. She was glad that the three men had gone, but she was sorry, too. That elderly man had seemed kind and sympathetic and a gentleman; and he had come from that house. But that, Sally, was no recommendation. She knew that he had done the wise thing; or that he had not done the unwise thing, and probably he was right and no good came of meddling. And the sound of their steps died away as they turned a corner. Again Sally had the street to herself; Sally and the man lurking in the shadows. She found herself growing more and more oppressed with the sense of loneliness.

If only somebody were there to wait with her! A quiet, out-of-the-way street, poorly lighted, is not the most exhilarating place for a girl at half-past eleven at night. If only Fox--

Somebody else had turned the corner and was coming toward her with a step that was neither brisk nor loitering; that seemed as if it knew just where it was going, but was in no unseemly haste to get there.

Sally stopped and looked about for some place in which she might conceal herself. None offered better than her tree. As the step drew near she seemed to know it, and she shrank as nearly out of sight as she could. She had no invisible cap; she wished she had.

The step which she knew stopped beside her. "Sally!" said a voice in unmistakable surprise. "Sally! What in the world are you doing here?"

Sally smiled as bravely as she could. "Nothing, Everett," she replied quietly. "Just waiting."

"Waiting?" he exclaimed. "For whom, may I ask?"

"For Charlie," she answered as quietly as before. "Jane has gone in to get him."

"Oh," said Everett coldly, "so Spencer has gone in to get him. To judge by appearances, he doesn't seem to make a success of it."

Sally shook her head. There did not seem to be anything else to say.

Spencer didn't seem to be making much of a success of it.

"How long have you been waiting?"

"Two or three years," answered Sally, with a nervous laugh.

"You poor girl!" Everett exclaimed. "I was just going in to see if I couldn't get Charlie. It is curious how things happen." Sally smiled a little smile of amus.e.m.e.nt in spite of her nervousness. It _was_ curious how things happened, when you came to think of it. "There isn't any use in your waiting any longer. It can't do any good, and it may be very unpleasant for you. Better let me take you to your hotel.