she sails to-morrow morning, and we're going on her." He seemed
subdued, and hummed and strummed on his banjo, as if he couldn't get
hold of what he wanted to let out. At last he struck up a monotonous
thing that had no tune, and sang again: "One day," he says,

"One day I struck creation,
And I says in admiration,
'What's this here combination?'
Then I done a heap of sin.
I hain't no education,
Nor kin.

"There's something I would say, boys,
Of the life I throwed away, boys,
It cackles, but don't lay, boys,
There's a word that won't come out.
The hell I raised I'll pay, boys,
Just about.

"Tommy," he says then, "I'm leaving you. You ain't going to have my
sheltering wing no more. Write down these here maxims in your memory,
supposing I never see you no more. Any game is good that'll hold up a
bet. Any sort of life is good so long as it has a good risk in it.
The worth of anything depends on how much you've staked on it. Him
that draws most of the potluck in this world is the same that drops
most in. The man that puts up his last coin as keen as when he put up
his first, he'll sure win in the end. Lastly, Tommy, if you want a
backer inquire for Sadler. So long."

He got up to leave, and stood a moment looking away into the