“Fine!” returned Blackie. “You wire me that it’s all fixed, and when I start for New York there’ll be a financial stringency in Boston.”
Returning to New York, Wallingford caught Beauty Phillips at breakfast about noon, and in a most charming morning gown, for the Beauty was consistent enough to be neat even when there was none but “mother” to see.
“Hello, Mr. Mark, from Easyville,” she hailed him. “I heard all about you.”
“You did!” he demanded, surprised. “Who told you?”
“Phelps and Banting,” she said. “They had the nerve to come up in the grand-stand yesterday and tell Mr. Block and me all about it; told me how much you won and how they got it away from you at poker.”
“Did they tell you they put knock-out drops in my wine?” demanded Wallingford.
“They didn’t do that!” she protested.
“Exactly what they did. Whether we played poker afterward, I don’t know. I’d just as soon as not believe they went through my pockets.”
“I wouldn’t put it past them a bit,” she agreed, and then her indignation began to grow. “Say, ain’t it a shame! Now, if I hadn’t gone out to dinner with Mr. Block, you’d have been with me. I’d have had that lovely diamond brooch you promised me out of your first winnings, and we’d have had all the rest of it to bet with for a few days. Honest, Pinky, I feel as if it were my fault!”