The Sunny Side Read Online Free Page B

own money, you turn to the man next to you and say, ‘Lend me a louis, dear old chap, till Christmas; I’ve forgotten my purse.’”
    â€œNo systems,” said Dahlia. “Let’s make a collection and put it all on one number and hope it will win.”
    Dahlia had obviously been reading novels about people who break the bank.
    â€œIt’s as good a way of losing as any other,” said Archie. “Let’s do it for our first gamble, anyway. Simpson, as our host, shall put the money on. I, as his oldest friend, shall watch him to see that he does it. What’s the number to be?”
    We all thought hard for several moments.
    â€œSamuel, what’s your age?” asked Myra, at last.
    â€œRight off the board,” said Thomas.
    â€œYou’re not really more than thirty-six?” Myra whispered to him. “Tell me as a secret.”
    â€œPeter’s nearly two,” said Dahlia.
    â€œDo you think you could nearly put our money on ‘two’?” asked Archie.
    â€œI once made seventeen,” I said. “On that never-to-be-forgotten day when I went in first with Archie—”
    â€œThat settles it. Here’s to the highest score ofThe Rabbits’ wicket-keeper. To-morrow afternoon we put our money on seventeen. Simpson, you have between now and 3.30 to-morrow to perfect your French delivery of the magic word dix-sept .”
    I went to bed a proud but anxious man that night. It was my famous score which had decided the figure that was to bring us fortune…and yet…and yet…
    Suppose eighteen turned up? The remorse, the bitterness! “If only,” I should tell myself—“if only we had run three instead of two for that cut to square-leg!” Suppose it were sixteen! “Why, oh why,” I should groan, “did I make the scorer put that bye down as a hit?” Suppose it were thirty-four! But there my responsibility ended. If it were going to be thirty-four, they should have used one of Archie’s scores, and made a good job of it.
    At 3.30 next day we were in the fatal building. I should like to pause here and describe my costume to you, which was a quiet grey in the best of taste, but Myra says that if I do this I must describe hers too, a feat beyond me. Sufficient that she looked dazzling, that as a party we were remarkably well-dressed, and that Simpson—murmuring “ dix-sept ” to himself at intervals—led the way through the rooms till he found a table to his liking.
    â€œAren’t you excited?” whispered Myra to me.
    â€œFrightfully,” I said, and left my mouth well open. I don’t quite know what picture of the event Myra and I had conjured up in our minds, but I fancy it was one something like this. At the entrance into the rooms of such a large and obviously distinguished party there would be a slight sensation among the crowd, and way would be made for us at the most important table. It would then leak out that Chevalier Simpson—the tall poetical-looking gentleman in the middle, my dear—had brought with him no less a sum than thirty francs with which to break the bank, and that he proposed to do this in one daring coup . At this news the players at the other tables would hastily leave their winnings (or losings) and crowd round us. Chevalier Simpson, pale but controlled, would then place his money on seventeen—” dix-sept ,” he would say to the croupier to make it quite clear—and the ball would be spun. As it slowed down, the tension in the crowd would increase. “ Mon Dieu !” a woman would cry in a shrill voice; there would be guttural exclamations from Germans; at the edge of the crowd strong men would swoon. At last a sudden shriek…and the croupier’s voice, tremblingfor the first time for thirty years, “ Dix-sept !” Then gold and notes would be pushed at the Chevalier. He would stuff his pockets with them; he