Kennedy was now in for some hundreds, a sum that was sufficiently large for him, but he doubled again, still cheerfully playing the red, and the red won. As he gathered up his chips he rose.
“That's the only system,” he said simply.
“But, go on, go on,” came the chorus from about the table.
“No,” said Kennedy quietly, “that is part of the system, too—to quit when you have won back your stakes and a little more.”
“Huh!” exclaimed DeLong in disgust. “Suppose you were in for some thousands—you wouldn't quit. If you had real sporting blood you wouldn't quit, anyhow!”
Kennedy calmly passed over the open insult, letting it be understood that he ignored this beardless youth.
“There is no way you can beat the game in the long run if you keep at it,” he answered simply. “It is mathematically impossible. Consider. We are Croesuses—we hire players to stake money for us on every possible number at every coup. How do we come out? If there are no '0' or '00,' we come out after each coup precisely where we started—we are paying our own money back and forth among ourselves; we have neither more nor less. But with the '0' and '00' the bank sweeps the board every so often. It is only a question of time when, after paying our money back and forth among ourselves, it has all filtered through the '0' and '00' into the bank. It is not a game of chance for the bank—ah, it is exact, mathematical—c'est une question d' arithmetique, seulement, nest-ce pas, messieurs?”
“Perhaps,” admitted DeLong, “but it doesn't explain why I am losing to-night while everyone else is winning.”
“We are not winning,” persisted Craig. “After I have had a bite to eat I will demonstrate how to lose—by keeping on playing.” He led the way to the cafe.
DeLong was too intent on the game to leave, even for refreshments. Now and then I saw him beckon to an attendant, who brought him a stiff drink of whiskey. For a moment his play seemed a little better, then he would drop back into his hopeless losing. For some reason or other his “system” failed absolutely.