In the gambling-rooms was gathered an interested and fairly smart throng—actors, actresses, clubmen, one or two very emancipated women of the high local social world, and a number of more or less gentlemanly young gamblers. Both Lord and McKibben began suggesting column numbers for first plays to their protégés, while Lynde leaned caressingly over Aileen’s powdered shoulders. “Let me put this on quatre premier for you,” he suggested, throwing down a twenty-dollar gold piece.
“Oh, but let it be my money,” complained Aileen. “I want to play with my money. I won’t feel that it’s mine if I don’t.”
“Very well, but you can’t just now. You can’t play with bills.” She was extracting a crisp roll from her purse. “I’ll have to exchange them later for you for gold. You can pay me then. He’s going to call now, anyhow. There you are. He’s done it. Wait a moment. You may win.” And he paused to study the little ball as it circled round and round above the receiving pockets.
“Let me see. How much do I get if I win quatre premier?” She was trying to recall her experiences abroad.
“Ten for one,” replied Lynde; “but you didn’t get it. Let’s try it once more for luck. It comes up every so often—once in ten or twelve. I’ve made it often on a first play. How long has it been since the last quatre premier?” he asked of a neighbor whom he recognized.
“Seven, I think, Polk. Six or seven. How’s tricks?”
“Oh, so so.” He turned again to Aileen. “It ought to come up now soon. I always make it a rule to double my plays each time. It gets you back all you’ve lost, some time or other.” He put down two twenties.
“Goodness,” she exclaimed, “that will be two hundred! I had forgotten that.”
Just then the call came for all placements to cease, and Aileen directed her attention to the ball. It circled and circled in its dizzy way and then suddenly dropped.
“Lost again,” commented Lynde. “Well, now we’ll make it eighty,” and he threw down four twenties. “Just for luck we’ll put something on thirty-six, and thirteen, and nine.” With an easy air he laid one hundred dollars in gold on each number.
Aileen liked his manner. This was like Frank. Lynde had the cool spirit of a plunger. His father, recognizing his temperament, had set over a large fixed sum to be paid to him annually. She recognized, as in Cowperwood, the spirit of adventure, only working out in another way. Lynde was perhaps destined to come to some startlingly reckless end, but what of it? He was a gentleman. His position in life was secure. That had always been Aileen’s sad, secret thought. Hers had not been and might never be now.
“Oh, I’m getting foozled already,” she exclaimed, gaily reverting to a girlhood habit of clapping her hands. “How much will I win if I win?” The gesture attracted attention even as the ball fell.
“By George, you have it!” exclaimed Lynde, who was watching the croupier. “Eight hundred, two hundred, two hundred”—he was counting to himself—“but we lose thirteen. Very good, that makes us nearly one thousand ahead, counting out what we put down. Rather nice for a beginning, don’t you think? Now, if you’ll take my advice you’ll not play quatre premierany more for a while. Suppose you double a thirteen—you lost on that—and play Bates’s formula. I’ll show you what that is.”
Already, because he was known to be a plunger, Lynde was gathering a few spectators behind him, and Aileen, fascinated, and not knowing these mysteries of chance, was content to watch him. At one stage of the playing Lynde leaned over and, seeing her smile, whispered:
“What adorable hair and eyes you have! You glow like a great rose. You have a radiance that is wonderful.”
“Oh, Mr. Lynde! How you talk! Does gambling always affect you this way?”
“No, you do. Always, apparently!” And he stared hard into her upturned eyes. Still playing ostensibly for Aileen’s benefit, he now doubled the cash deposit on his system, laying down a thousand in gold. Aileen urged him to play for himself and let her watch. “I’ll just put a little money on these odd numbers here and there, and you play any system you want. How will that do?”
“No, not at all,” he replied, feelingly. “You’re my luck. I play with you. You keep the gold for me. I’ll make you a fine present if I win. The losses are mine.”
“Just as you like. I don’t know really enough about it to play. But I surely get the nice present if you win?”
“You do, win or lose,” he murmured. “And now you put the money on the numbers I call. Twenty on seven. Eighty on thirteen. Eighty on thirty. Twenty on nine. Fifty on twenty-four.” He was following a system of his own, and in obedience Aileen’s white, plump arm reached here and there while the spectators paused, realizing that heavier playing was being done by this pair than by anyone else. Lynde was plunging for effect. He lost a thousand and fifty dollars at one clip.
“Oh, all that good money!” exclaimed Aileen, mock-pathetically, as the croupier raked it in.
“Never mind, we’ll get it back,” exclaimed Lynde,
