He then threw ten.
"Ten to five!" cried the groom-porter.
"Put down three fifties," said Dunstable; "and you have four fifties to three. That's right. Now go on."
Egerton threw.
"Five—trois, deuce—out!" cried the groom-porter.
And the young man's money was swept towards the bank in a moment.
"Try a back, Egerton," exclaimed Chichester.
"Well—I don't mind," was the reply—for the waiter had just handed round goblets of the most delicious claret, and the lights began to dance somewhat confusedly before the young victim's eyes. "I'll set myself again in two hundred; and five's the main."
"Five's the main," cried the groom-porter: "deuce, ace—out."
And away went the bank-notes to the rosewood case at the head of the table.