He looked up with a slight start--that wasn't one of joyous welcome,
because the speaker was altogether a stranger--to find at his elbow a
large body of man entirely surrounded by evening clothes and urbanity;
whose face was broad with plump cheeks particularly clean-shaven;
whose eyes were keen and small and twinkling; whose fat hand (offered
to P. Sybarite) was strikingly white and dimpled and well-manicured;
whose dignity and poise (alike inimitable) combined with the
complaisance of a seasoned student of mankind to mark an individuality
at once insinuating and forceful.
"You were asking for me, I believe?" pursued this person, with
complete suavity.
P. Sybarite pursed doubtful lips. "I'm afraid," he replied
pleasantly, "you have the advantage of me.... Let's see: this is my
thirty-second birthday...."
The ball was spinning. He deposited four chips on the square numbered
32.
"I am Mr. Penfield," the stranger explained.
"Really?" P. Sybarite jumped up and cordially seized his hand. "I hope
I see you well to-night."
Releasing the hand, he sat down.
"Quite well, thank you; in fact, never better." With a slight smile
Mr. Penfield nodded toward the gaming table. "Having a good time?"
"_Thirty-two, red, even_," observed the croupier....
"Oh, tolerable, tolerable," assented P. Sybarite, blandly accepting
counters that called for seven hundred dollars....
"In one year from to-day, I shall be thirty-three," he reckoned; and
shifted a maximum to the square designated by that number....
"What do you think? Is Teddy going to get the nomination?"
"I'm only very slightly interested in politics," returned Mr.
Penfield. "I shouldn't like to express an opinion.... Sorry a prior
engagement obliged me to keep you waiting."
"_Thirty-three, black, odd_...."
"Don't mention it," insisted P. Sybarite politely. "Not another word
of apology--I protest! Indeed, I've managed to divert myself amazingly
while waiting.... Thank you," he added in acknowledgment of another
seven-hundred-dollar consignment of chips. "To-day," he mused aloud,
"is the thirteenth of April--"
"The fourteenth," corrected Mr. Penfield: "to-day is only about two
hours old."
"Right you are," admitted P. Sybarite, shifting twenty dollars from
the 13 to the 14. "Careless memory of mine ..."
"_Thirteen, black, odd_...."
"There, now! You see--you spoiled my aim," P. Sybarite complained
peevishly.
"Forgive me," murmured Mr. Penfield while P. Sybarite made another
wager. "Are you in a hurry to break the bank?" he added.
"It's my ambition," modestly confessed the little man, watching a
second twenty gathered in to the benefit of the house. "But I've only
a few minutes more--and you do play such a _darned_ small game."
"Perhaps I can arrange matters for you," suggested Mr. Penfield.
"You'd like the limit removed?"
"Not as bad as all that. Make the maximum a hundred, and I'll begin to
feel at home."
"Delighted to oblige. You won't object to my rolling for you?"
Penfield nodded to the croupier; who (first paying P. Sybarite seven
hundred on his last wager) surrendered his place.
"Not in the least," agreed P. Sybarite, marshalling his chips in
stacks of five: twenty-five dollars each. "It's an honour," he added,
covering several numbers as Penfield deftly set ball and wheel in
motion.
He won the first fall; and encouraged by this, began to play
extravagantly, sowing the board liberally with wagers of twenty-five,
fifty, and one hundred dollars each. Hardly ever the ball clattered to
a lodgment but he cashed one or another of these; and the number of
times that the house paid him thirty-five hundred dollars passed his
count. All other play at that table ceased; and a gallery of patrons
of the establishment gathered round, following with breathless
interest the fortunes of this shabby little plunger. Their presence,
far from annoying, pleased him; it was just so much additional
assurance of fair play. The mounting of the roulette wheel--it was
placed upon a broad sheet of plate-glass elevated several inches above
the table--was proof against secret manipulation. And a throng of
spectators not only forbade any attempt to call wrong numbers on a
winning cast but likewise insured fair dealing on the part of the
croupier, who was so busy raking in losing bets or paying winnings
that P. Sybarite had time neither to watch him nor to check his
payments.
Penfield, cool and smiling, confined his attention to the wheel. If he
felt any uneasiness or dismay on account of P. Sybarite's steadily
augmented mountain of chips, he betrayed it not at all overtly.
But abruptly (they had been playing less than fifteen minutes) he
paused and, instead of starting the ball on another race round its
ebony run, dropped it lightly in the depression immediately above the
axle of the wheel.
"The game is closed," he announced evenly, with a slow smile.
"Sir"--directly to P. Sybarite--"although it lacks the resources of
Monte Carlo, this establishment nevertheless imitates its protective
measures. A table losing twenty-five thousand dollars in one day
ceases operations. You are just twenty-five thousand to the good.
Accept my congratulations."
"You are very amiable," insisted P. Sybarite, rising, with a little
bow. "But if you care for revenge, I shall be pleased to continue at
the other table."
"Unfortunately that, too, has suspended operations," returned
Penfield. "However, I hope before long to relieve you of your gains."
Opening the cash drawer, he cleared it completely of its contents,
placing before P. Sybarite a tremendous accumulation of bills, old and
new, of all denominations, loose and in packages, together with some
ten or twelve golden double-eagles.
"I believe you will find that correct," he observed genially.
"Afterwards, I trust you will do me the honour of splitting a bottle
with me in the lounge."
"Delighted," said P. Sybarite.
Penfield strolled off, exchanged a few words with an acquaintance or
two, and a few more with his employees, and went downstairs. The
remaining handful of patrons disappeared gradually, yet so quickly
that P. Sybarite was a lonely outsider by the time he had finished
counting his winnings and stowing them away about his person.
Presenting the croupier with five hundred dollars, he recovered his
hat (at last) and descended, to find Penfield awaiting him at the foot
of the steps.
X