What say you ?" The end was, Wilkinson yielded.
"Not down in the mouth, because of this little run of ill-luck ?" said Carlton, in a bantering way, as he saw a cloud settling over the face of his victim.
Lights had been brought in, and the two men still remained seated by the table at which they had been playing, awaiting the preparation of supper.
"I'm never down in the mouth," replied Wilkinson, forcing a smile to his countenance.

"Better luck next time, has always been my motto." "And it will carry you safely through the world.

Try another glass of brandy." "No--I've taken enough already." "It isn't every man who knows when he has enough," returned the other.
"I've often wished that I knew exactly the right gauge." And, as Carlton spoke, he poured some brandy into a glass, and, adding a little water, affected to take a deep draught thereof; but, though the glass was held long to his mouth, only a small portion of the contents passed his lips.

In replacing the tumbler on the table, he managed to give it a position behind the water-pitcher where the eye of Wilkinson could not rest upon it.

He need hardly have taken this trouble, for his companion was too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice a matter like this.
"They're a long time in getting supper," remarked Carlton, in a well-affected tone of impatience.