One thing he was quite sure
of--namely, that he would see me again on the first opportunity there
was of winning more half-crowns.
It is possible that a succession of runs of luck might have put an end
to my professional career; it is certain that the opposite result put
an end to my card-playing aspirations.
In about a fortnight, all eager for a renewal of my Epsom experience,
I went down to the Ascot meeting, taking with me not only all my
previous winnings, but my store of savings for the rainy day, and was
determined to pursue the same moderate system of cautious play.
There was the same booth, the same little flag fluttering on the top,
and the same obliging proprietor. He recognized me at once, and looked
as if he was quite sure I would be there--as if, in fact, he had been
waiting for me. After a pleasant greeting and a few friendly words, I
thought it a little odd that a man should be so glad to meet one who
had come to fill his pockets at the booth-keeper's expense--at least,
I thought this afterwards, not at the time. He looked genuinely
pleased, and down I sat once more, quite sure that two to one would
beat three.
The proprietor kept his eye on my play in a very thoughtful manner,
nor was it surprising that he knew his game as well as I; in fact, it
turned out that he knew it better. To this day I am unable to explain
how he manoeuvred it, how he adjusted his tactics to counteract mine;
but that something happened more than mere luck would account for was
certain, for, as often as the half-crown went on black, red was the
lucky colour.
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