"
"Plenty fer each and all, chents," interrupted one of the shell-men.
"Place yer spondulicks on de little ball. Wich is de next lucky one to win
our money? Chent bets four sixty-five he seen de little ball go under de
middle shell. Up she comes! Dis time _we_ wins; Plattville can't win
_every_ time. Who's de next chent?"
Fentriss edged slowly out of the circle, abashed, and with rapidly
whitening cheeks. He paused for a moment, outside, slowly realizing that
all his money had gone in one wild, blind whirl--the money he had earned
so hard and saved so hard, to make a holiday for his sweetheart and
himself. He stole one glance around the building to where a patient figure
waited for him. Then he fled down a side alley and soon was out upon the
country road, tramping soddenly homeward through the dust, his chin sunk
in his breast and his hands clenched tight at his sides. Now and then he
stopped and bitterly hurled a stone at a piping bird on a fence, or gay
Bob White in the fields. At noon the patient figure was still waiting in
the corner of the court-house yard, meekly twisting the golden ring upon
her finger.
But the flushed young man who had spoken thickly to her deserter drew an
envied roll of bankbills from his pocket and began to bet with tipsy
caution, while the circle about the gamblers watched with fervid interest,
especially Mr.
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