off the board," said Thomas.

"You're not really more than thirty-six?" Myra whispered 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
wore 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, wou