spered to him. "Tell me
as a secret."

"Peter's nearly two," said Dahlia.

"Do you think you could nearly put our money on 'two'?" asked Archie.

"I once made seventeen," I said. "On that never-to-be-forgotten day when
I went in first with Archie--"

"That settles it. Here's to the highest score of The 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.

"Aren't you excited?" whispered Myra to me.

"Frightfully," 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