"Too much," I said. "Think what _The Clarion_ and _Reynolds's_ would
say about it! You'd have no peace."
"I know," exclaimed Bruce suddenly. "I'll wish that I had as much
money as John P. Fox, the American Rubber King."
"That ought to see you through all right," I remarked approvingly.
"The papers say he is worth six millions."
Bruce again held up the Nadir Bandar.
"I wish," said he, "that I had as much money as John P. Fox, the
American Rubber King."
"Two up and one to play," I said, laughing. "You may as well have a
third while you're about it; that will still leave you one to hedge
with."
Bruce thought a moment.
"I wish that I may live for ever," he said.
"Good!" I cried. "You'll be able to read Hall Caine's next novel
right through."
With this hopeful reflection I got up from my chair and walked to the
window.
"Now this tomfoolery's over," I observed, with a yawn, "what are we
going to do?"
Bruce scratched his ear.
"I shall go and call on Cynthia, I think," he said in a rather
apologetic voice. "After all, you know," he added lamely, "there
might be something in it."
"Superstition," I began, "when coupled with--" Then I stopped
abruptly. The excellent aphorism that I was about to utter was never
completed.
"What's up?" asked Bruce, turning to me in surprise.