IX
THE PLUNGER
A humour the most cool and reckless imaginable now possessed P.Sybarite. The first flush of his unaccustomed libations seemed to haveworn itself out, his more recent draught to have had no other effectthan to steady his gratulate senses; and a certain solid comfortresided in the knowledge that his hard-earned five dollars reposed insafe deposit.
"They can't get _that_ away from me--not so long as I'm able to kick,"he reflected with huge satisfaction.
And the seven hundred and thirty-five in his pocket was possessed of adevil of restlessness. He could almost feel it quivering withimpatience to get into action. After all, it was only seven hundredand thirty-five dollars: not a cent more than the wages of forty-nineweeks' servitude to the Genius of the Vault of the Smell!
"That," mused P. Sybarite scornfully, "won't take me far....
"What," he argued, "is the use of travelling if you can't go to theend of the line?...
"I might as well be broke," he asseverated, "as the way I am!"
Glancing cunningly down his nose, he saw the finish of a fool.
"Anyway," he insisted, "it was ever my fondest ambition to get rid ofprecisely seven hundred and thirty-five dollars in one hour by theclock."
So he sat down at the end of the table of his first winnings, andexchanged one of his seven big bills for one hundred white chips.
"What," he asked with an ingenious smile, "is the maximum?"
"Seein's it's you," said the croupier, grinning, "we'll make it twentya throw."
"Such being the case"--P. Sybarite pushed back the little army ofwhite chips--"you may give me twenty dark-brown counters forthese...."
In ten minutes he had lost two hundred dollars.
At the end of twenty minutes, he exchanged his last thirty-fivedollars for seven brown chips.
Ten minutes later, he was worth eighteen hundred dollars; in anotherten, he had before him counters calling for five thousand orthereabouts.
"It is," he observed privately--"it must be my Day of Days!"
A hand touched his shoulder, and a quiet voice said: "Beg pardon--"
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 alarge 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 (offeredto P. Sybarite) was strikingly white and dimpled and well-manicured;whose dignity and poise (alike inimitable) combined with thecomplaisance of a seasoned student of mankind to mark an individualityat once insinuating and forceful.
"You were asking for me, I believe?" pursued this person, withcomplete suavity.
P. Sybarite pursed doubtful lips. "I'm afraid," he repliedpleasantly, "you have the advantage of me.... Let's see: this is mythirty-second birthday...."
The ball was spinning. He deposited four chips on the square numbered32.
"I am Mr. Penfield," the stranger explained.
"Really?" P. Sybarite jumped up and cordially seized his hand. "I hopeI see you well to-night."
Releasing the hand, he sat down.
"Quite well, thank you; in fact, never better." With a slight smileMr. Penfield nodded toward the gaming table. "Having a good time?"
"_Thirty-two, red, even_," observed the croupier....
"Oh, tolerable, tolerable," assented P. Sybarite, blandly acceptingcounters that called for seven hundred dollars....
"In one year from to-day, I shall be thirty-three," he reckoned; andshifted 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 priorengagement obliged me to keep you waiting."
"_Thirty-three, black, odd_...."
"Don't mention it," insisted P. Sybarite politely. "Not another wordof apology--I protest! Indeed, I've managed to divert myself amazinglywhile waiting.... Thank you," he added in acknowledgment of anotherseven-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 twohours old."
"Right you are," admitted P. Sybarite, shifting twenty dollars fromthe 13 to the 14. "Careless memory of mine ..."
"_Thirteen, black, odd_...."
"There, now! You see--you spoiled my aim," P. Sybarite complainedpeevishly.
"Forgive me," murmured Mr. Penfield while P. Sybarite made anotherwager. "Are you in a hurry to break the bank?" he added.
"It's my ambition," modestly confessed the little man, watching asecond twenty gathered in to the benefit of the house. "But I've onlya 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 tofeel at home."
"Delighted to oblige. You won't object to my rolling for you?"Penfield nodded to the croupier; who (first paying P. Sybarite sevenhundred on his last wager) surrendered his place.
"Not in the least," agreed P. Sybarite, marshalling his chips instacks of five: twenty-five dollars each. "It's an honour," he added,covering several numbers as Penfield deftly set ball and wheel inmotion.
He won the first fall; and encouraged by this, began to playextravagantly, sowing the board liberally with wagers of twenty-five,fifty, and one hundred dollars each. Hardly ever the ball clattered toa lodgment but he cashed one or another of these; and the number oftimes that the house paid him thirty-five hundred dollars passed hiscount. All other play at that table ceased; and a gallery of patronsof the establishment gathered round, following with breathlessinterest the fortunes of this shabby little plunger. Their presence,far from annoying, pleased him; it was just so much additionalassurance of fair play. The mounting of the roulette wheel--it wasplaced upon a broad sheet of plate-glass elevated several inches abovethe table--was proof against secret manipulation. And a throng ofspectators not only forbade any attempt to call wrong numbers on awinning cast but likewise insured fair dealing on the part of thecroupier, who was so busy raking in losing bets or paying winningsthat P. Sybarite had time neither to watch him nor to check hispayments.
Penfield, cool and smiling, confined his attention to the wheel. If hefelt any uneasiness or dismay on account of P. Sybarite's steadilyaugmented mountain of chips, he betrayed it not at all overtly.
But abruptly (they had been playing less than fifteen minutes) hepaused and, instead of starting the ball on another race round itsebony run, dropped it lightly in the depression immediately above theaxle of the wheel.
"The game is closed," he announced evenly, with a slow smile."Sir"--directly to P. Sybarite--"although it lacks the resources ofMonte Carlo, this establishment nevertheless imitates its protectivemeasures. A table losing twenty-five thousand dollars in one dayceases operations. You are just twenty-five thousand to the good.Accept my congratulations."
"You are very amiable," insisted P. Sybarite, rising, with a littlebow. "But if you care for revenge, I shall be pleased to continue atthe other table."
"Unfortunately that, too, has suspended operations," returnedPenfield. "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 andnew, of all denominations, loose and in packages, together with someten 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 bottlewith me in the lounge."
"Delighted," said P. Sybarite.
Penfield strolled off, exchanged a few words with an acquaintance ortwo, and a few more with his employees, and went downstairs. Theremaining handful of
patrons disappeared gradually, yet so quicklythat P. Sybarite was a lonely outsider by the time he had finishedcounting his winnings and stowing them away about his person.
Presenting the croupier with five hundred dollars, he recovered hishat (at last) and descended, to find Penfield awaiting him at the footof the steps.
The Day of Days: An Extravaganza Page 9
