After dinner cards were brought forth and vingt et un was played. In a weak moment I volunteered to "carry" Jill, who played with an abandon which was at once exhilarating and extremely expensive. Her persistent refusal to "stand" on anything less than twenty-one commanded an admiration which, but for my presence, would have been universal. The only run of luck with which her audacity was favoured coincided with my tenure of the bank, during which period she took fifty-two shillings off me in seven minutes.
As I pushed her counters across—
"I've heard of robbing Peter to pay Paul," I said gloomily, "but never of robbing Charlie to pay Chaplin. Why couldn't you do this when some one else had the bank?"
"You shouldn't deal me such cards," was the ungrateful reply.
A moment later she turned up a "natural" with a dazzling smile.
There was a roar of laughter.
"Of course, this is Berry's luck," said I. "And it needs Berry's tongue to cope with it. A little more, and I shall ship for Australia before the mast. Yes, I'll have a brandy-and-soda, please. Of appropriate strength."
"In inverse proportion to your luck?" said my host.
I shook my head.
"That would require Berry's liver. Besides, tomorrow morning I'm going to help your wife to decorate the church. I admit I was a fool to promise, but it's done now, and——"