Waiter, a bottle of PONTET CANET. Ah, it's number seven on the
wine list; I shall plunge on number seven to-night. It won four
times running this afternoon when I was backing that silly number
five.'
"Number seven was not in a winning mood that evening. The Brimley
Bomefields, tired of watching disaster from a distance, drew near
to the table where their aunt was now an honoured habitu?e, and
gazed mournfully at the successive victories of one and five and
eight and four, which swept 'good money' out of the purse of
seven's obstinate backer. The day's losses totalled something
very near two thousand francs.
"'You incorrigible gamblers,' said Roger chaffingly to them, when
he found them at the tables.
"'We are not gambling,' said Christine freezingly; 'we are looking
on.'
"'I DON'T think,' said Roger knowingly; 'of course you're a
syndicate and aunt is putting the stakes on for all of you.
Anyone can tell by your looks when the wrong horse wins that
you've got a stake on.'
"Aunt and nephew had supper alone that night, or at least they
would have if Bertie hadn't joined them; all the Brimley
Bomefields had headaches.
"The aunt carried them all off to Dieppe the next day and set
cheerily about the task of winning back some of her losses.
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