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The spirit of the gambler is in us all, and we might as well confess it here and now. It is in the corpuscles: something for nothing, something for nothing! Martin was a power in the Common Council. He could block or put through any measure. He always carried a roll of gold-bills in his pockets for what purpose no one had the temerity to inquire.
I coughed suggestively, and Friard came slipping in my direction again. "This is what I want. How much?" I inquired. How much?" "Fifty cents; it has never been worn." I drew out my wallet. I had arrived in town too late to go to the bank, and I was carrying an uncomfortably large sum in gold-bills. As I opened the wallet to extract a small bill, I saw the stranger eying me quietly.
There wasn't the slightest chance for me to argue. So I drew out my wallet. I extracted the gold-bills and made a neat little packet of them. It hurt, hurt like the deuce, to part with them. But ! "Game, William, isn't he? Most men would have flung the wallet at my head." "Oh, he is game, sir; never you doubt it, sir," said the amiable William.
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