Try it again. Roll the third--there! it strikes! and down goes his
soul forever. It was not so much the pins that fell as the soul! the
soul! FATAL TEN-STRIKE FOR ETERNITY!"
Shall I sketch the history of the gambler? Lured by bad company, he
finds his way into a place where honest men ought never to go. He
sits down to his first game only for pastime and the desire of being
thought sociable. The players deal out the cards. They unconsciously
play into Satan's hands, who takes all the tricks, and both the
players' souls for trumps--he being a sharper at any game. A slight
stake is put up just to add interest to the play. Game after game is
played. Larger stakes and still larger. They begin to move nervously
on their chairs. Their brows lower and eyes flash, until now they who
win and they who lose, fired alike with passion, sit with set jaws,
and compressed lips, and clenched fists, and eyes like fire-balls
that seem starting from their sockets, to see the final turn before
it comes; if losing, pale with envy and tremulous with unuttered
oaths cast back red-hot upon the heart--or, winning, with hysteric
laugh--"Ha! Ha! I have it! I have it!"
A few years have passed, and he is only the wreck of a man.
Pages:
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179