Page 58 - The Adventures of a Freshman

excitedly. The older players now left off making patronizing remarks, and became interested. Finally Young
said, "No, I won't make it any higher. What have you got?"

Lee slapped down his cards. His voice trembled a little as he asked, confidently, "Can you beat that?"

"Yep," said Young, and he coolly laid down his victorious hand. The others all looked at it. "It's about time I
was winning," he said, calmly enough; but his heart was thumping.

"Why didn't you keep on raising him?" asked Powelton, sneeringly.

"I wish I had," thought Young, as he gathered in what meant a large winning for one swoop. Lee was laughing
loudly to show he did not care. He was excited, and would have gone on betting for a long time, Young
thought.

That was the turning-point. Had Young lost, he might have stopped; but to stop now would look mean, he
reflected.

"The luck has turned," he whispered to himself. "I'll play a few more hands." And when the game broke up at
dawn, he had lost his winnings, and more.

That night he tossed in his bed, and said: "I must stop; that's all there is about it; I must stop."

The next time they met to play, Young said, "Go ahead without me; I don't feel like it to-night."

"The Deacon hasn't any sporting blood. He's afraid of his own pupil," Powelton said, and the others laughed.
Lucky laughed, too; he was the pupil. Young played.

That night Young won handily. He felt especially pleased to win that night. He thought, "I'll stop the minute I
have won back what I lost." But he did not win back what he had lost, and so played on the next night, and on
the next. And so it went until he was brought to a stop with a jerk.

It came near the end of the term and of the year, shortly before the final examinations. The crowd had been
playing nearly every night, and of late, somehow, Young had been losing nearly every time he played; but he
said: "I can't afford to stop now. Surely this bad luck can't continue. I must win! I will win next time!" He
could not stop. It is called "gambler's fever."

He could not sleep; he was neglecting his studies. He had used up all his allowance of "absences." He did not
mind that, but he had within these few weeks lost--he would not allow himself to reckon how much! He had
borrowed from the fellows, and he had been steadily drawing from the bank the precious money for which he
had worked so hard, and which meant so much more to him than money meant to boys with monthly
allowances from home. One morning he made out another check to his own order. "This is positively the last
time," he said to himself. He had said that before, but this time it was true.

That night he began to lose with the first hand. He laughed, he played recklessly, he lost. He went home, and
found a letter in his pocket while undressing which he had forgotten to open, in hurrying to the game. This
letter said, "We beg leave to call your attention to the fact that your account seems to be overdrawn to the
amount of seventy-five cents." It was from the Princeton Bank.

This meant that William Young owned not a cent in the world, and was a debtor even to the bank besides
owing various sums to his companions. He was bankrupt. It was pretty bad. But that was not the worst of it.
That was not the reason he stood by the table letting his lamp smoke while he kept staring at the letter in his
hand.