The gambling was all upstairs.
We turned to a beautiful staircase of carved wood, and ascended.
Everywhere were thick rugs into which the feet sank almost ankle
deep. On the walls were pictures that must have cost a small
fortune. The furniture was of the costliest; there were splendid
bronzes and objects of art on every hand.
Gambling was going on in several rooms that we passed, but the
main room was on the second floor, a large room reconstructed in
the old house, with a lofty ceiling and exquisitely carved trim.
Concealed in huge vases were the lights, a new system, then, which
shed its rays in every direction without seeming to cast a shadow
anywhere. The room was apparently windowless, and yet, though
everyone was smoking furiously, the ventilation must have been
perfect.
There was, apparently, a full-fledged poolroom in one part of the
house, closed now, of course, as the races for the day were run.
But I could imagine it doing a fine business in the afternoon.
There were many other games now in progress, games of every
description, from poker to faro, keno, klondike, and roulette.
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