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While DeLong and his gallant comrades of the United States Navy were dying slowly in the bleak desert of the Lena delta, another party of brave Americans were pushing their way into the Arctic circle on the Atlantic side of the North American continent.
"Anything, DeLong." "And I never had a chance," he repeated, meditatively fingering the wires. "They broke me to-night. Danfield" DeLong turned, looking dazedly about in the crowd for his former friend, then his hand shot into his pocket, and a little ivory-handled pistol flashed out "Danfield, your blood is on your own head. You have ruined me."
"Wh-what does it mean?" asked DeLong blankly. "It means that you had little enough chance to win at a straight game of roulette. But the wheel is very rarely straight, even with all the odds in favor of the bank, as they are. This game was electrically controlled. Others are mechanically controlled by what is sometimes called the 'mule's ear, and other devices. You can't win.
"You talk like a professor I had at the university," ejaculated DeLong contemptuously as Craig finished his disquisition on the practical fallibility of theoretically infallible systems. Again DeLong carefully avoided the "17," as well as the black. The wheel spun again; the ball rolled. The knot of spectators around the table watched with bated breath. Seventeen won!
It is not a game of chance for the bank ah, it is exact, mathematical c'est une question d'arithmétique seulement, n'est-ce pas, messieurs?" "Perhaps," admitted DeLong, "but it doesn't explain why I am losing to-night while everyone else is winning." "We are not winning," persisted Craig. "After I have had a bite to eat I will demonstrate how to lose by keeping on playing."
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