The boys, however, were jubilant, and began at once to unwrap the various
bundles they were hugging, prizes, it seemed, for every game they played,
that represented enough plunder to deck a small Christmas tree. After
these had been duly admired, with some misgivings on my part, Ian jumped
up suddenly, clapping his hand to his pocket, and coming close, so that
he could rest upon my knee, he began pulling out shining new dimes and
quarters, until his hands, moist and trembling with excitement, could
hold no more, and he poured the coins into my lap.
"Count them please, Barbara, vely quick, 'cause I can't say so many," he
begged, standing with his curly head a little on one side, and his eyes
flashing with eagerness.
Wondering what new form of extravagance it was, I counted, "One, two,
three dollars and a half."
"Then we can go and buy the red harness for Corney to-morrow, without
bothering to dig up any more dandies, 'cause Dick's got some too," he
fairly shouted. "It was all bully fun, but that swizzle game where the
marble ran round was the bestest of all, only some numbers it sat on took
the pennies and some gave them back," and he indicated something flying
round in a circle as he capered about. Ian's slightest gestures, like his
father's, are very realistic, and I turned sick as I realized the game by
which the silver had been won was probably roulette! Could it be
possible? How had Mr.
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