“I will try,” said Dawkins, gloomily.
“That is well. I thought you would listen to reason, mon ami. Now we will have a pleasant chat. Hold, I will order some brandy myself.”
Not for me,” said Dawkins, rising from his chair, “I must be going.”
“Will you not have one little game?” asked Duval, coaxingly.
“No, no, I have had enough of that. Goodnight.”
“Then you won’t stop. And when shall I have the pleasure of seeing you at my little apartment once more?”
“I don’t know.”
“If it is any trouble to you to come, I will call at your office,” said Duval, significantly.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Dawkins, hastily; “I will come here a week from today.”
“A week is a long time.”
“Long or short, I must have it.”
“Very well, mon ami. A week let it be. Good-night. Mind the stairs as you go down.”
Dawkins breathed more freely as he passed out into the open air. He was beginning to realize that the way of the transgressor is hard.
XXX.
A TRAP IS LAID FOR PAUL.
THREE months before, George Dawkins had made his first visit to a gambling house. At first, he had entered only from curiosity. He watched the play with an interest which gradually deepened, until he was easily persuaded to try his own luck. The stakes were small, but fortune favored him, and he came out some dollars richer than he entered. It would have been fortunate for him if he had failed. As it was, his good fortune encouraged him to another visit. This time he was less fortunate, but his gains about balanced his losses, so that he came out even. On the next occasion he left off with empty pockets. So it went on until at length he fell into the hands of Duval, who had no scruple in fleecing him to as great an extent as he could be induced to go.
George Dawkins’s reflections were not of the most cheerful character as, leaving Duval, he slowly pursued his way homeward. He felt that he had fallen into the power of an unscrupulous villain, who would have no mercy upon him. He execrated his own folly, without which all the machination of Duval would have been without effect.
The question now, however, was, to raise the money. He knew of no one to whom he could apply except his father, nor did he have much hope from that quarter. Still, he would make the effort.
Reaching home he found his father seated in the library. He looked up from the evening paper as George entered.
“Only half-past nine,” he said, with an air of sarcasm. “You spend your evenings out so systematically that your early return surprises me. How is it? Has the theater begun to lose its charm!”
There was no great sympathy between father and son, and if either felt affection for the other, it was never manifested. Mutual recrimination was the rule between them, and George would now have made an angry answer but that he had a favor to ask, and felt it politic to be conciliatory.
“If I had supposed you cared for my society, sir, I would have remained at home oftener.”
“Umph!” was the only reply elicited from his father.
“However, there was a good reason for my not going to the theater to-night.”
“Indeed!”
“I had no money.”
“Your explanation is quite satisfactory,” said his father, with a slight sneer. “I sympathize in your disappointment.”
“There is no occasion, sir,” said George, good humoredly, for him. “I had no great desire to go.”
Dawkins took down a book from the library and tried to read, but without much success. His thoughts continually recurred to his pecuniary embarrassments, and the debt which he owed to Duval seemed to hang like a millstone around his neck. How should he approach his father on the subject? In his present humor he feared he would have little chance.
As his father laid down the newspaper Dawkins said, “Wouldn’t you like a game of checkers, sir?”
This, as he well knew, was a favorite game with his father.
“I don’t know but I should,” said Mr. Dawkins, more graciously than was his wont.