The booth was kept by a man who
seemed--to me, at all events--to be the soul of honour. I had no
reason to speak otherwise than well of him, for I staked a half-crown
on the black, and won two half-crowns every time, or nearly every
time.
I thought it a most excellent game, and with less of the element of
chance or skill in it than any game I ever played. My pockets were
getting stuffed with half-crowns, so that they bulged, and caused me
to wonder if I should be allowed to leave the racecourse alive, for
there were many thieves who visited the Downs in those days.
But my friend Charley was with me, and I knew he would be a pretty
trustworthy fellow in a row. This, however, was but a momentary
thought, for I was too much engrossed in the game and in my good luck
to dwell on possibilities. Nor did I interest myself in Charley's
proceedings, but took it for granted that a game so propitious to me
was no less so to him. He was playing with several others; who or
what they were was of no moment to me. I pursued my game quietly, and
picked up my half-crowns with great gladness and with no concern for
those who had lost them.
Presently, however, my attention was momentarily diverted by hearing
Charley let off a most uncontrollable "D--n!"
"What's the matter, Charley?" I asked, without lifting my head.
"Matter!" says Charley; "rooked--that's all!"
"Rooked! That's very extraordinary.
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