(_A SKETCH AT THE CASINO, DINARD._)
_On either side of the circular Race-course, with its
revolving metal horses, is a Green Table, divided into
numbered squares, around which the Players, who are mostly
English, are sitting or standing. A Croupier with his rake
presides at each table. In an obscure corner of the balcony
outside_, Miss DAINTREE _and her_ Married Sister _have just
established themselves. There is a Ball at the Casino, and the
Orchestra are heard tuning up for the next dance._
_The Married Sister._ But SYLVIA, why have you dragged me out here to
sit in the dark? I thought you were engaged for this?
_Miss Daintree._ So I am—to such a horrid little man. That’s why I
fled. He won’t think of coming _here_ after me!
_The M.S._ What made you give him a dance at all?
_Miss D._ JACK brought him up to me—so naturally I thought he was
a dear friend of his, but it seems he only sat next to him at _table
d’hôte_, and JACK says he pestered him so for an introduction, he
_had_ to do it—to get rid of him. So like a brother, wasn’t it?...
Oh, AMY, he’s _coming_—what _shall_ I do? I know he can’t dance a
little bit! I watched him trying.
_The M.S._ Can’t you ask him to sit it out?
_Miss D._ That’s _worse_! Let’s hope he won’t notice us.—Ah—he
_has_!
[Illustration: “Our dance, I believe?”]
[Mr. CUBSON, _a podgy young man with small eyes and a scrubby
moustache, wearing a tailless evening-coat and a wrinkled
white waistcoat, advances._
_Mr. Cubson._ Our dance, I believe? (_The Orchestra strikes up._)
Isn’t that the _Pas de Quatre?_ To tell you the truth, I’m not
very well up in these new steps, so I shall trust to you to pull me
through—soon get into it, y’know.
_Miss D._ (_to herself_). If I could only get _out_ of it! (_She
rises with a look of mute appeal to her_ Sister.) We can go through
this room. (_They pass into the Salle des Petits Chevaux._) Stop one
minute—I just want to see which horse wins. Don’t you call this a
fascinating game?
_Mr. C._ Well, I don’t understand the way they play it here—too
complicated for _me_, you know!
_Miss D._ (_to herself_). Anything to gain time! (_Aloud._) Oh, it’s
quite simple—you just put your money down on any number you choose,
and say “_Sur le_”—whatever it is, and, if it wins, you get seven
times your stake.
_Croupier._ Tous sont payés—faites vos jeux, Messieurs,—les jeux
sont partis!
_Miss D._ I know what I should do—I should back 7 this time. I’ve a
presentiment he’ll win.
_Mr. C._ Then why don’t you back him?
_Miss D._ Because I don’t happen to have brought any money with me.
_Mr. C._ Oh, I daresay I can accommodate you with a franc or two, if
that’s all.
_Miss D._ Thank you, I won’t trouble you: but do back him yourself,
just to see if I’m not right.
_Croupier._ Les jeux sont faits. Rien ne va plus!
_Mr. C._ (_throwing a franc on the table_). Sur le sept! (_To_ Miss
D.) I say, he’s raked it in. What’_s that_ for?
_Miss D._ For the Bank, or Charity, or something—they always do that
if you stake too late.
_Mr. C._ Swindle, _I_ call it. And I should have won, too—it _is_ 7.
I’ve had enough of this—suppose we go and dance?
_Miss D._ Why, you’re not going to give in already—after so nearly
winning, too?
_Mr. C._ Ah, well, I’ll have just one more go—and then we’ll be off.
I’m going to try the 9 this time. [_He stakes._
_Miss D. I_ should have gone on the 4—it’s time one of the even
numbers won again.
_Mr. C._ Oh, would you? All right, then. (_To_ Cr.) Pas sur le
neuf—le quatre. (_The_ Croupier _transfers the franc to 4._) They’re
off—can’t tell the winner yet. Now they’re slower—4’s good—4’s very
good. See where he’s stopped, not an inch from the post! This isn’t
half a bad game.
[_A horse with a red flag at his head, labelled No. 9, creeps
slowly up, and stops just ahead of 4._
_Croupier._ Neuf, impair, et rouge!
_Mr. C._ It’s 9 after all—and I backed him first. (_In an injured
tone._) I should have _won_ if you hadn’t said that about 4!
_Miss D._ (_with secret delight_). I won’t advise any more. What are
you going to back?
_Mr. C._ We really ought to be dancing—but I’ll try my luck once more
on No. 4. I shall put on _two_ francs this time.
_Miss D._ Shall you? How reckless! I heard someone say just now that
No. 1 hasn’t won for a long time.
_Mr. C._ I took your advice once too often. There—4’s going to
win—see how he’s going round—no, he’s passed.
[_A horse with a yellow flag, labelled No. 1, stops close to
the post._
_Croupier._ L’As, impair, et jaune!
_Miss D._ Didn’t I tell you so?
_Mr. C._ You only said _I hadn’t_ won—not that he _would_. If you had
spoken more plainly—! I don’t think much of _this_ game—I’ve dropped
four francs already. How about that dance?
_Miss D._ (_ironically_). It would be rather a pity to go away without
getting all that money back, wouldn’t it?
_Mr. C._ (_seriously_). Perhaps it would. You’re sure you’re in no
hurry about this dance?
_Miss D._ On the contrary!
_Mr. C._ Well, look here, I’m going to put on a five-franc piece this
time—so be careful what you advise.
_Miss D._ Oh, I really couldn’t undertake such a responsibility.
_Mr. C._ I shall follow this man then, and back five. (_He does; the
horses spin round, and the race is won by a horse with a tricoloured
flag labelled No. 5._) There, I’ve done it without you, you see.
(_The_ Croupier _pushes a heap of ivory counters towards him, which
he takes up with trembling hands._) I say, I scooped in thirty-five
francs over that! Not bad, is it? I’m glad I waited!
_Miss D._ Yes, it’s better fun than dancing, isn’t it?
_Mr. C._ Oh, lots—at least I didn’t mean _that_ quite—
_Miss D._ Didn’t you? _I_ did. What are you going to back next?
_Mr. C._ Well, I must just have one more turn, and then we’ll go and
get that dance over. I’m going to plunge this time. (_He spreads his
counters about the board._) There, I’ve put five francs on each colour
and ten each on 8 and 9. You see, by hedging like that, you’re bound
to pull off _something_!
_Miss D._ (_as the horses spin round_). All the yellow flags are out
of it.
_Mr. C._ Doesn’t matter, 9’s red, and he’s going first-rate—nothing
to beat him!
_Miss D._ Unless it’s 5, and then you lose. (_No._ 5 _wins again._)
How unfortunate for you. 5 generally _does_ win twice running,
somehow.
_Mr. C._ (_with reproach_). If you had thought of that a little
sooner, I shouldn’t have lost twenty francs! (_A player rises, and_
Mr. C. _secures the vacant chair._) More comfortable sitting down. I
must get that back before I go. I’ve got about twenty francs left,
I’ll put five on yellow, and ten on 9. (_He does._ Croupier. “_Deux,
pair, et rouge!_”) Only five left! I’ll back yellow again, as red won
last. (_He does._ Croupier. “_Quatre, pair, et rouge!_” _He turns to_
Miss D. _for sympathy._) I say, did you ever see such beastly bad—?
_A Frenchman_ (_behind him_). Plaît-il? _Mr. C._ (_confused_). Oh,
rien. I wasn’t speaking to _you_, M’soo. (_To himself._) Where
on earth has that girl got to? She might have waited! She’s gone
back to the balcony! (_He goes out in pursuit of her._) Oh, I say,
Miss—er—DAINTREE, if you’re ready for that “_Pas de Quatre_,” I am.
Hope I haven’t kept you waiting.
_Miss D._ (_sweetly_). Not’ in the very least. Are you sure you’ve
_quite_ finished playing?
_Mr. C._ As I’ve lost all I’d won and a lot on the top of that, I
should rather think I _had_ finished playing.
_Miss D._ So has the Orchestra—quite a coincidence, isn’t it? You
were so absorbed, you see!—No, I won’t keep you out here, thanks; my
sister will take care of me.
_Mr. C._ (_to himself, as he departs rather sheepishly_). I’ve
_offended_ that girl—I could see she was wild at missing that Barn
Dance. I wish I _had_ danced it, I’m sure,—it would have saved me
several francs. It was all her own fault. However, I’ll ask her for
a waltz another evening, and make it up to her _that_ way. Confound
those _Petits Chevaux_!
_Miss D._ AMY, he’s gone,—and I _haven’t_ danced and I haven’t sat
out with him—and he can’t’ say it’s _my_ fault either! (_She kisses
her hand to the Petits Chevaux inside._) Thanks, _ever_ so much, you
dear little beasts!
* * * * *