Some men are born rascals, some men have rascality thrust upon
them, others achieve it. This is a story of a chap that I think
must have had a birthmark of knavery somewhere concealed about his
body. It was during the war, and I was going up on the steamer
_Fashion_, Captain Pratt. I was dealing red and black, and had a
big game, as there were a number of cotton buyers on board. One
of them was a fine appearing gentleman from New York, who was soon
$3,800 loser; then he began to play reckless, and was still followed
by his bad luck. I noticed his nervousness, and came to the
conclusion that he was not playing with his own money.