season of heavy losses, came the final crash, and Captain Ducie found
himself under the necessity of selling his commission, and of retiring
into private life.

From this date Captain Ducie was compelled to live by "bleeding" his
friends and connections. He was a great favourite among them, and they
rallied gallantly to his rescue. But Ducie still gambled; and the best
of friends, and the most indulgent of relatives, grew tired after a
time of seeing their cherished gold pieces slip heedlessly through the
fingers of the man whom it was intended that they should substantially
help, and be lost in the foul atmosphere of a gaming-house. One by one,
friend and relative dropped away from the doomed man, till none were
left. Little by little the tide of fortune ebbed away from his feet,
leaving him stranded high and dry on the cruel shore of impecuniosity,
hemmed in by a thousand debts, with the gaunt wolf of beggary staring
him in the face.

There was one point about Captain Ducie's gambling that redounded to his
credit. No one ever suspected him of cheating. His "run of luck" was so
uniformly bad, despite a brief fickle gleam of fortune now and again,
which seemed sent only to lure him on to deeper destruction; it was so
well known that he had spent two fortunes and alienated all his friends
through his passion for the green cloth, that it would have been the
height of absurdity to even suspect him of roguery. Indeed, "Ducie's
luck" was a proverbial phrase at the whist-tables of his club. He was
not a "turf" man, and had no knowledge of horses beyond that legitimate
knowledge which every soldier ought to have. His money had all been lost
either at cards or roulette. He was one of the most imperturbable of
gamblers. Whatever the varying chances of the game might be, no man ever
saw him either elated or depressed: he fought with his vizor down.