CHAPTER XXI
A CORNER
THE withered, leering, old Goddess of Luck must have grinned wide that morning. To smile knowingly over men’s hopes is her de- light; but to smile behind the back of a man who is smiling, is the double distillation of pleasure. Melville Sponley had never enjoyed living before as in those minutes, one or two less than ninety, while he played cautiously and allowed Pickering some small hope of win- ning, and postponed planting the last thrust in him until the hour he himself had set should have fully come. He had had fancies of this kind before, but never had he indulged one of them, and so this had the added delight of novelty.
But while he waited, John Bagsbury, whom
he thought to be no longer in the game, was
taking a hand in this last dealing of the cards.
When
