on the only visit he had ever paid to the place. He had played
constantly, and had won more or less each day. Then his fortune turned
and he lost and lost each day. At last, one evening, he walked up to a
table and said to the croupier, "When was zero up last?" The croupier
answered, "Not for an hour." Forthwith he began to stake on zero and on
nothing else. For two hours he put his louis at each turn of the wheel
on the Lonely Nought. For two hours he lost. Increasing his stake,
which had begun at five francs and had risen at length to five louis, he
still coaxed the sardonic deity. Finally midnight came, and he was the
only person playing at the table. All others had gone or had ceased to
play. These stayed to watch the "mad Inglesi," as a foreigner called
him, knocking his head against the foot stool of an unresponsive god of
chance. The croupiers watched also with somewhat disdainful, somewhat
pitying interest, this last representative of a class who have an insane
notion that the law of chances is in their favour if they can but stay
the course. And how often had they seen the stubborn challenger of a
black demon, who would not appear according to the law of chances, leave
the table ruined for ever!

Smiling, Crozier had played on till he had but ten louis left. Counting
them over with cheerful exactness, he rose up, lit a cigarette, placed
the ten louis on the fatal spot with cynical precision, and with a gay
smile kissed his hand to the refractory Nothing and said, "You've got it
all, Zero-good-night! Goodnight, Zero!" Then he had buttoned his coat
and turned away to seek the cool air of the Mediterranean. He had gone
but a step or two, his head half gaily turned to the table where the
dwindling onlookers stood watching the wheel spin round, when suddenly
the croupier's cry of "Zero!" fell upon his ears.

With cheerful nonchalance he had come back to the table and picked up the