Читать книгу Under the Tiger's Claws; Or, A Struggle for the Right онлайн

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On a couch at one side of the room a young man lay sleeping. It was the deep, dead sleep of intoxication. Yet he was well clad, and his boyish features indicated culture and refinement. His name was—Harry Royal.

The companion with whom he had entered this place some hours earlier was seated at the gaming-table, in a chair directly opposite the dealer and amid several other players. He was a tall, fair man, and his knit brows, his pressed lips, his glowing eyes, and tremulous hands, indicated his intense interest in the game then in progress.

He appeared quite collected, however, and placed his bets promptly, like one playing a system. He was setting a rapid pace, too, if one might judge from the stacks of chips in front of him. Yet he plainly was not a winner. The ugly light in his frowning eyes was convincing evidence of that.

Such was the place, and the employment of its several occupants, which Moses Flood was at that hour approaching.

The May day was drawing to a close, and the dusk of early evening had begun to fall.