Sam Hall lost his entire share within an hour, betting recklessly.

He approached a gigantic fireman who squatted by the wall with a canvas bag clutched in one hand and a broken bottle in the other.

The whisky had run out on the floor, but the fellow was too far gone to know the difference, and from time to time he raised the empty bottle to his lips.
"Money gone," said Hall.

"Gimme!" And he held out his hand.
The fireman, with a vast grin, delved his hand into the bag and brought it forth loaded with gold, which Hall took without a word and returned to his game of rolling dice, one throw at five hundred dollars a throw.
In ten minutes he went back to the fireman with a double handful of corns.
"Principal an' interest," grunted the big sailor, and dumped his gold into the canvas bag which, filled to overflowing, spilled a dozen coins upon the floor.
The fireman, with a groan of dull content, slipped prone on the floor and was instantly asleep, embracing the canvas bag in both arms.

Every man in the crew was in a somewhat similar condition, saving Hovey, with his gray-blue, steady eyes, and Cochrane, with his glittering, shifty black.