At his first words Lewis felt a wave of relief--the relief of the diver
in deep waters who feels himself rising to the surface. Perhaps all was
not lost. Perhaps this man could restore their imperiled friendship, so
sudden, already so dear.

The stranger went on:

"Ashamed to stop when you're ahead, too keen to stop when you're behind,
you've lost all you possessed, jarred your trust in your fellow-man, and
bartered freedom for slavery--mortgaged a year of your life. You've
climbed the cliff of greed, got one whiff of sordid elation at the top,
and tumbled down the precipice of despair. In short, you've lived the
whole life of a gambler--all in seven hours."

He picked up Lewis's two notes and stuffed them into his own well-filled
wallet. "They say," he continued, "that only experience teaches. You may
gamble all the rest of your life, but take it from me, my friend,
gambling holds no emotion you haven't gone through today."

Their eyes met. Lewis's gaze was puzzled, but intent. The stranger's
eyes were almost twinkling.

"By the way," he said, "what's in the bundle? Let's see."

Lewis brought his sorry little bundle and laid it on the table. He
untied the knots with trembling fingers. The stranger poked around the
contents with his finger. He picked out the little kid of clay, already
minus a leg.

"Hallo! What's this?"