Then he did the trick again. Mr. Coombes said it was the card next
the coal-scuttle this time, and wanted to put five shillings on it.
We laughed at him, and tried to persuade him against it. He would
listen to no advice, however, but insisted on plunging.
Our curate said very well then: he had warned him, and that was
all that he could do. If he (Mr. Coombes) was determined to make a
fool of himself, he (Mr. Coombes) must do so.
Our curate said he should take the five shillings and that would
put things right again with the blanket fund.
So Mr. Coombes put two half-crowns on the card next the coal-
scuttle and turned it up.
Sure enough, it was the queen again!
After that, Uncle John had a florin on, and HE won.
And then we all played at it; and we all won. All except the
curate, that is. He had a very bad quarter of an hour. I never
knew a man have such hard luck at cards. He lost every time.
We had some more punch after that; and Uncle made such a funny
mistake in brewing it: he left out the whisky. Oh, we did laugh
at him, and we made him put in double quantity afterwards, as a
forfeit.
Oh, we did have such fun that evening!
And then, somehow or other, we must have got on to ghosts; because
the next recollection I have is that we were telling ghost stories
to each other.
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