The Sunny Side | Page 9

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 it quite clear--and the ball would be spun. As it slowed down,
the tension in the crowd would increase. "Mon Dieu!" a woman would
cry in a shrill voice; there would be guttural exclamations from
Germans; at the edge of the crowd strong men would swoon. At last a
sudden shriek ... and the croupier's voice, trembling for the first time
for thirty years, "Dix-sept!" Then gold and notes would be pushed at
the Chevalier. He would stuff his pockets with them; he would fill his
hat with them; we others, we would stuff our pockets too. The bank
would send out for more money. There would be loud cheers from all
the company (with the exception of one man, who had put five francs
on sixteen and had shot himself) and we should be carried--that is to
say, we four men--shoulder high to the door, while by the deserted
table Myra and Dahlia clung to each other, weeping tears of
happiness....
Something like that.
What happened was different. As far as I could follow, it was this. Over
the heads of an enormous, badly-dressed and utterly indifferent crowd
Simpson handed his thirty francs to the croupier.
"Dix-sept," he said.
The croupier with his rake pushed the money on to seventeen.

Another croupier with his rake pulled it off again ... and stuck to it.
The day's fun was over.
* * * * *
"What did win?" asked Myra some minutes later, when the fact that we
should never see our money again had been brought home to her.
"Zero," said Archie.
I sighed heavily.
"My usual score," I said, "not my highest."

VI.
THE RECORD OF IT
"I shall be glad to see Peter again," said Dahlia, as she folded up her
letter from home.
Peter's previous letter, dictated to his nurse-secretary, had, according to
Archie, been full of good things. Cross-examination of the proud father,
however, had failed to reveal anything more stirring than "I love
mummy," and--er--so on.
We were sitting in the loggia after what I don't call breakfast--all of us
except Simpson, who was busy with a mysterious package. We had not
many days left; and I was beginning to feel that, personally, I should
not be sorry to see things like porridge again. Each to his taste.
"The time has passed absurdly quickly," said Myra. "We don't seem to
have done anything--except enjoy ourselves. I mean anything specially
Rivierish. But it's been heavenly."
"We've done lots of Rivierish things," I protested. "If you'll be quiet a

moment I'll tell you some."
These were some of the things:
(1) We had been to the Riviera. (Nothing could take away from that.
We had the labels on our luggage.)
(2) We had lost heavily (thirty francs) at the Tables. (This alone
justified the journey.)
(3) Myra had sat next to a Prince at lunch. (Of course she might have
done this in London, but so far there has been no great rush of Princes
to our little flat. Dukes, Mayors, Companions of St. Michael and St.
George, certainly; but, somehow, not Princes.)
(4) Simpson had done the short third hole at Mt. Agel in three. (His
first had cleverly dislodged the ball from the piled-up tee; his second, a
sudden nick, had set it rolling down the hill to the green; and the third,
an accidental putt, had sunk it.)
(5) Myra and I had seen Corsica. (Question.)
(6) And finally, and best of all, we had sat in the sun, under a blue sky
above a blue sea, and watched the oranges and lemons grow.
So, though we had been to but few of the famous beauty spots around,
we had had a delightfully lazy time; and as proof that we had not really
been at Brighton there were, as I have said, the luggage labels. But we
were to be able to show further proof. At this moment Simpson came
out of the house, his face beaming with excitement, his hands carefully
concealing something behind his back.
"Guess what I've got," he said eagerly.
"The sack," said Thomas.
"Your new bests," said Archie.
"Something that will interest us all," helped Simpson.

"I withdraw my