He said that I ought to try my luck: that everybody won at first. The
tall man at my side was waving his arms in the air, exclaiming: "Shoot
the sixteen!" "Shoot the sixteen!" "Fate me!" Whether it was my
companion's suggestion or some latent dare-devil strain in my blood
which suddenly sprang into activity I do not know; but with a thrill
of excitement which went through my whole body I threw a twenty-dollar
bill on the table and said in a trembling voice: "I fate you."

I could feel that I had gained the attention and respect of everybody
in the room, every eye was fixed on me, and the widespread question,
"Who is he?" went around. This was gratifying to a certain sense of
vanity of which I have never been able to rid myself, and I felt that
it was worth the money even if I lost. The tall man, with a whirl on
his heels and a double grunt, threw the dice; four was the number
which turned up. This is considered as a hard "point" to make. He
redoubled his contortions and his grunts and his pleadings to the
dice; but on his third or fourth throw the fateful seven turned up,
and I had won. My companion and all my friends shouted to me to follow
up my luck. The fever was on me. I seized the dice. My hands were so
hot that the bits of bone felt like pieces of ice. I shouted as loudly
as I could: "Shoot it all!" but the blood was tingling so about my
ears that I could not hear my own voice. I was soon "fated." I threw
the dice--sevens--I had won. "Shoot it all!" I cried again. There was
a pause; the stake was more than one man cared to or could cover. I
was finally "fated" by several men taking each a part of it. I then
threw the dice again. Seven. I had won. "Shoot it all!" I shouted
excitedly. After a short delay I was "fated." Again I rolled the dice.
Eleven. Again I won. My friends now surrounded me and, much against
my inclination, forced me to take down all of the money except five
dollars. I tried my luck once more, and threw some small "point" which