Freddie was mixing a cock-tail. His hand with the long spoon was whirling swiftly, and the ice in the glass hummed and like a cheap watch. Over by the window, a gambler, a millionaire, a railway conductor, and the agent of a vast American syndicate were playing seven-up. Freddie surveyed them with the glance of a man who is mixing a cock-tail.

From time to time a swarthy Mexican waiter came with his tray from the rooms at the rear, and called his orders across the bar. The sounds of the indolent stir of the city, from its , floated over the screens which barred the sun and the eye. From the far-away kitchen could be heard the roar of the old French chef, driving, , and abusing his Mexican helpers.


A string of men came suddenly in from the street. They stormed up to the bar. There were impatient shouts. "Come now, Freddie, don't stand there like a portrait of yourself. Wiggle!" Drinks of many kinds and colours, , green, mahogany, strong and mild, began to upon the bar with all the attendants of lemon, sugar, mint and ice. Freddie, with Mexican support, worked like a sailor in the provision of them, sometimes talking with that scorn for drink and for those who drink which is the attribute of a good bar-keeper.


At last a man was with a stroke of -shaking. A herculean discussion was waging, and he was deeply engaged in it, but at the same time he lazily the dice. Occasionally he made great combinations. "Look at that, would you?" he cried proudly. The others paid little . Then violently the took them. It went along the line like an , and involved them all. In a moment they had arranged a of dice-shaking with money penalties and liquid prizes. They clamorously made it a point of honour with Freddie that he should play and take his chance of sometimes providing this large group with free . With bended heads like football players, they surged over the dice, jostling, cheering, and bitterly arguing. One of the quiet company playing seven-up at the corner table said that the row reminded him of a contest at a picnic.


After the regular shower, many carriages rolled over the smooth calle, and sent a musical thunder through the Casa Verde. The shop-windows became with light, and the walks were crowded with youths, callow and , dressed vainly according to fashions. The policemen had themselves in their gnome-like cloaks, and placed their lanterns as obstacles for the carriages in the middle of the street. The city of Mexico gave the deep organ-mellow tones of its evening resurrection.




But still the group at the bar of the Casa Verde were shaking dice. They had passed beyond shaking for drinks for the crowd, for Mexican dollars, for dinners, for the wine at dinner. They had even gone to the trouble of separating the cigars and cigarettes from the dinner's bill, and causing a distinct man to be responsible for them. Finally they were aghast. Nothing remained in sight of their minds which even remotely suggested further . There was a pause for deep consideration.


"Well——"


"Well——"


A man called out in the of creation. "I know! Let's shake for a box to-night at the circus! A box at the circus!" The group was profoundly . "That's it! That's it! Come on now! Box at the circus!" A dominating voice cried—"Three dashes—high man out!" An American, tall, and with a face of red from the rays that flash among the Sierra Madres and burn on the deserts, took the little leathern cup and the dice out upon the polished wood. A fascinated assemblage hung upon the bar-rail. Three kings turned their pink faces upward. The tall man flourished the cup, , and flung the two other dice. From them he ultimately extracted one more pink king. "There," he said. "Now, let's see! Four kings!" He began to swagger in a sort of provisional way.


The next man took the cup, and blew softly in the top of it. it in his hand, he then surveyed the company with a eye and paused. They knew well that he was applying the magic of deliberation and ostentatious , but they could not wait in during the performance of all these . They began to call out impatiently. "Come now—hurry up." At last the man, with a gesture that was singularly impressive, threw the dice. The others set up a howl of joy. "Not a pair!" There was another solemn pause. The men moved restlessly. "Come, now, go ahead!" In the end, the man, induced and abused, achieved something that was nothing in the presence of four kings. The tall man climbed on the foot-rail and leaned forward. "Four kings! My four kings are good to go out," he into the middle of the mob, and although in a moment he did pass into the radiant region of , he continued to advice and scorn.


The mirrors and oiled woods of the Casa Verde were now dancing with blue flashes from a great buzzing electric lamp. A host of quiet members of the Anglo-Saxon colony had come in for their pre-dinner cock-tails. An person was exhibiting to some tourists this popular American saloon. It was a very sober and respectable time of day. Freddie reproved the dice-shaking brawlers, and, in return, he received the choicest advice in a of seven combined vocabularies. He laughed; he had been compelled to retire from the game, but he was keeping an interested, if , eye upon it.


Down at the end of the line there was a youth at whom everybody railed for his flaming ill-luck. At each disaster, Freddie swore from behind the bar in a sort of affectionate contempt. "Why, this kid has had no luck for two days. Did you ever see such throwin'?"


The contest narrowed eventually to the New York kid and an individual who swung about on legs that moved in circles. He had a grin that resembled a bit of . He was obliged to lean down and blink rapidly to the facts of his venture, but fate presented him with five queens. His smile did not change, but he gently like a man who has been running.


The others, having emerged unscathed from this part of the conflict, waxed with the kid. They him on either shoulders. "We've got you stuck for it, kid! You can't beat that game! Five queens!"


Up to this time the kid had displayed only the temper of the gambler, but the cheerful of the players, supplemented now by a ring of guying non-combatants, caused him to feel profoundly that it would be fine to beat the five queens. He addressed a gambler's slogan to the interior of the cup.


"Oh, five white mice of chance,
Shirts of wool and corduroy pants,
Gold and wine, women and sin,
All for you if you let me come in—
Into the house of chance."
Flashing the dice out upon the bar, he displayed three . From two dice in the next throw he achieved one more . For his last throw, he rattled the single dice for a long time. He already had four aces; if he another one, the five queens were and the box at the circus came from the drunken man's pocket. All the kid's movements were slow and elaborate. For the last throw he planted the cup bottom-down on the bar with the one dice hidden under it. Then he turned and faced the crowd with the air of a or a cheat.


"Oh, maybe it's an ace," he said in boastful calm. "Maybe it's an ace."


Instantly he was presiding over a little drama in which every man was absorbed. The kid leaned with his back against the bar-rail and with his elbows upon it.


"Maybe it's an ace," he repeated.


A voice in the background said—"Yes, maybe it is, kid!"


The kid's eyes searched for a moment among the men. "I'll bet fifty dollars it is an ace," he said.


Another voice asked—"American money?"


"Yes," answered the kid.


"Oh!" There was a laugh at this . However, no one came forward at the kid's challenge, and presently he turned to the cup. "Now, I'll show you." With the manner of a mayor unveiling a statue, he lifted the cup. There was revealed but a ten-spot. In the roar which arose could be heard each man the of his neighbour, and above all the rang the voice of Freddie be-rating every one. "Why, there isn't one liver to every five men in the . That was the greatest cold I ever saw worked. He wouldn't know how to cheat with dice if he wanted to. Don't know the first thing about it. I could hardly keep from laughin' when I seen him drillin' you around. Why, I tell you, I had that fifty dollars right in my pocket if I wanted to be a chump. You're an easy lot——"


Nevertheless the group who had won in the theatre-box game did not their triumph. They burst like a storm about the head of the kid, swinging at him with their fists. "'Five white mice'!" they quoted, choking. "'Five white mice'!"


"Oh, they are not so bad," said the kid.


it often occurred that a man would a finger at the kid and say—"'Five white mice.'"


On the route from the dinner to the circus, others of the party often asked the kid if he had really intended to make his appeal to mice. They suggested other animals—rabbits, dogs, hedgehogs, snakes, opossums. To this the kid replied with a serious expression of his belief in the and wisdom of the five white mice. He presented a most case, decorated with fine language and insults, in which he proved that if one was going to believe in anything at all, one might as well choose the five white mice. His companions, however, at once and unanimously out to him that his recent exploit did not place him in the light of a convincing advocate.


The kid discerned two figures in the street. They were making imperious signs at him. He waited for them to approach, for he recognized one as the other kid—the Frisco kid: there were two kids. With the Frisco kid was Benson. They arrived almost breathless. "Where you been?" cried the Frisco kid. It was an arrangement that upon a meeting the one that could first ask this question was entitled to use a tone of limitless injury. "What you been doing? Where you going? Come on with us. Benson and I have got a little scheme."


The New York kid pulled his arm from the grapple of the other. "I can't. I've got to take these sutlers to the circus. They stuck me for it shaking dice at Freddie's. I can't, I tell you."


The two did not at first attend to his remarks. "Come on! We've got a little scheme."


"I can't. They stuck me. I've got to take'm to the circus."


At this time it did not suit the men with the scheme to recognize these objections as important. "Oh, take'm some other time. Well, can't you take'm some other time? Let 'em go. Damn the circus. Get cold feet. What did you get stuck for? Get cold feet."


But despite their fighting, the New York kid broke away from them. "I can't, I tell you. They stuck me." As he left them, they yelled with rage. "Well, meet us, now, do you hear? In the Casa Verde as soon as the circus quits! Hear?" They threw maledictions after him.


In the city of Mexico, a man goes to the circus without in any way to infant amusements, because the Circo Teatro Orrin is one of the best in the world, and too easily surpasses anything of the kind in the United States, where it is merely a matter of a number of rings, if possible, and a great professional agreement to lie to the public. Moreover, the American clown, who in the Mexican and gabbles, is the clown to whom writers refer as the delight of their childhood, and that he is dead. At this circus the kid was not debased by the sight of mournful prisoner elephants and caged animals forlorn and sickly. He sat in his box until late, and laughed and swore when past laughing at the comic foolish-wise clown.


When he returned to the Casa Verde there was no display of the Frisco kid and Benson. Freddie was leaning on the bar listening to four men terribly discuss a question that was not plain. There was a card-game in the corner, of course. Sounds of revelry from the rear rooms.


When the kid asked Freddie if he had seen his friend and Benson, Freddie looked bored. "Oh, yes, they were in here just a minute ago, but I don't know where they went. They've got their skates on. Where've they been? Came in here rolling across the floor like two little gods. They wobbled around for a time, and then Frisco wanted me to send six bottles of wine around to Benson's rooms, but I didn't have anybody to send this time of night, and so they got mad and went out. Where did they get their loads?"


In the first deep gloom of the street the kid paused a moment debating. But presently he heard quavering voices. "Oh, kid! kid! Com'ere!" Peering, he recognized two vague figures against the opposite wall. He crossed the street, and they said—"Hello-kid."




"Say, where did you get it?" he demanded sternly. "You Indians better go home. What did you want to get scragged for?" His face was with .


As they swung to and fro, they made angry denials. "We ain' load'! We ain' load'. Big chump. Comonangetadrink."


The sober youth turned then to his friend. "Hadn't you better go home, kid? Come on, it's late. You'd better break away."


The Frisco kid wagged his head decisively. "Got take Benson home first. He'll be wallowing around in a minute. Don't mind me. I'm all right."


"Cerly, he's all right," said Benson, arousing from deep thought. "He's all right. But better take'm home, though. That's ri—right. He's load'. But he's all right. No need go home any more'n you. But better take'm home. He's load'." He looked at his companion with . "Kid, you're load'."


The sober k............