FullReads

He was in the smoking-room playing solitaire, and at once I recalled that it was at Aix-les-Bains I had first seen him, and that he held a bank at baccarat. When he asked me to sit down I said: “I saw you last summer at Aix-les-Bains.”

His eyes fell to the pack in his hands and apparently searched it for some particular card.

“What was I doing?” he asked.

“Dealing baccarat at the Casino des Fleurs.”

With obvious relief he laughed.

“Oh, yes,” he assented; “jolly place, Aix. But I lost a pot of money there. I’m a rotten hand at cards. Can’t win, and can’t leave ’em alone.” As though for this weakness, so frankly confessed, he begged me to excuse him, he smiled appealingly. “Poker, bridge, chemin de fer, I like ’em all,” he rattled on, “but they don’t like me. So I stick to solitaire. It’s dull, but cheap.” He shuffled the cards clumsily. As though making conversation, he asked: “You care for cards yourself?”

I told him truthfully I did not know the difference between a club and a spade and had no curiosity to learn. At this, when he found he had been wasting time on me, I expected him to show some sign of annoyance, even of irritation, but his disappointment struck far deeper. As though I had hurt him physically, he shut his eyes, and when again he opened them I saw in them distress. For the moment I believe of my presence he was utterly unconscious. His hands lay idle upon the table; like a man facing a crisis, he stared before him. Quite improperly, I felt sorry for him. In me he thought he had found a victim; and that the loss of the few dollars he might have won should so deeply disturb him showed his need was great. Almost at once he abandoned me and I went on deck. When I returned an hour later to the smoking-room he was deep in a game of poker.

As I passed he hailed me gayly.

“Don’t scold, now,” he laughed; “you know I can’t keep away from it.”

From his manner those at the table might have supposed we were friends of long and happy companionship. I stopped behind his chair, but he thought I had passed, and in reply to one of the players answered: “Known him for years; he’s set me right many a time. When I broke my right femur ‘chasin,’ he got me back in the saddle in six weeks. All my people swear by him.”

One of the players smiled up at me, and Talbot turned. But his eyes met mine with perfect serenity. He even held up his cards for me to see. “What would you draw?” he asked.

His audacity so astonished me that in silence I could only stare at him and walk on.

When on deck he met me he was not even apologetic. Instead, as though we were partners in crime, he chuckled delightedly.

“Sorry,” he said. “Had to do it. They weren’t very keen at my taking a hand, so I had to use your name. But I’m all right now,” he assured me. “They think you vouched for me, and to-night they’re going to raise the limit. I’ve convinced them I’m an easy mark.”

“And I take it you are not,” I said stiffly.

He considered this unworthy of an answer and only smiled. Then the smile died, and again in his eyes I saw distress, infinite weariness, and fear.

As though his thoughts drove him to seek protection, he came closer.

“I’m ‘in bad,’ doctor,” he said. His voice was frightened, bewildered, like that of a child. “I can’t sleep; nerves all on the loose. I don’t think straight. I hear voices, and no one around. I hear knockings at the door, and when I open it, no one there. If I don’t keep fit I can’t work, and this trip I got to make expenses. You couldn’t help me, could you–couldn’t give me something to keep my head straight?”