miss or think of them. Indeed, you could be sure of him and all his
interests, whatever they were, feeling that he had himself well in hand,
knew exactly how far he was going, and that when the time came he could
and would stop. Yet during the process of his momentary relaxation or
satiation, in whatever field it might be, he would give you a sense of
abandon, even ungovernable appetite, which to one who had not known him
long might have indicated a mania.

Thus I remember once running over to Philadelphia to spend a Saturday
and Sunday with him, visits of this kind, in either direction, being of
the commonest occurrence. At that time he was living in some
quiet-looking boarding-house in South Fourth Street, but in which dwelt
or visited the group above-mentioned, and whenever I came there, at
least, there was always an atmosphere of intense gaming or playing in
some form, which conveyed to me nothing so much as a glorious sense of
life and pleasure. A dozen or more men might be seated at or standing
about a poker or dice table, in summer (often in winter) with their
coats off, their sleeves rolled up, Peter always conspicuous among them.
On the table or to one side would be money, a pitcher or a tin pail of
beer, boxes of cigarettes or cigars, and there would be Peter among the
players, flushed with excitement, his collar off, his hair awry, his
little figure stirring about here and there or gesticulating or lighting
a cigar or pouring down a glass of beer, shouting at the top of his
voice, his eyes aglow, "That's mine!" "I say it's not!" "Two on the
sixes!" "Three!" "Four!" "Ah, roll the bones! Roll the bones!" "Get off!
Get off! Come on now, Spikes--cough up! You've got the money now. Pay
back. No more loans if you don't." "Once on the fours--the fives--the
aces!" "Roll the bones! Roll the bones! Come on!" Or, if he saw me,
softening and saying, "Gee, Dreiser, I'm ahead twenty-eight so far!" or
"I've lost thirty all told. I'll stick this out, though, to win or lose