amount of his winnings, in gold or silver. Again the player wins, and again, but the dealer never alters his monotonous drawl for a moment, and appears utterly indifferent to the result. The player, urged on by nods and expressive looks from his companions, "presses his luck," and the wrong card is drawn out; the assistant reaches out his rake, and hauls his pile toward the bank. The player draws a long breath, with a half-muttered, half-suppressed curse, and takes from his pocket a $20 piece, which he pitches, with an, affectation of carelessness, down upon the nearest card. That, too, goes with the rest into the pile before the cashier of the bank; another and another follows, and at last the player wins again. Then he loses again, and again, and, suddenly starting up, strikes his hand upon his empty pocket, and walks quietly out of the room, without a word. Another victim takes his place, and so it will go on all night. Now and then a man will leave the room "ahead of the game," but you notice that the bank, be the game what it may, wins six times out of ten on the average, and, of course, must in the long run always break the players. We have had enough of this—let us go elsewhere, you say; and we walk out, our exit attracting as little attention as did our entrance.
Times have changed sadly of late, as any old Californian will tell you. The police are around now every night, watching for all such "sinful games," and such scenes as we have just been depicting are no longer to be witnessed in San Francisco, though gambling in a different way is just as common as ever.
