“Oh, I’ll testify. Though I tell you candidly that I don’t think I’ll win my bet.”
“You loose ’m bet sure,” the steward broke in, nodding his head. “That fellow him die damn soon.”
“Bet with’m, sir,” Davis challenged me. “It’s a straight tip from me, an’ a regular cinch.”
The whole situation was so gruesome and grotesque, and I had been swept into it so absurdly, that for the moment I did not know what to do or say.
“It’s good money,” Davis urged. “I ain’t goin’ to die. Look here, steward, how much you want to bet?”
“Five dollar, ten dollar, twenty dollar,” the steward answered, with a shoulder-shrug that meant that the sum was immaterial.
“Very well then, steward. Mr. Pathurst covers your money, say for twenty. Is it a go, sir?”
“Why don’t you bet with him yourself?” I demanded.
“Sure I will, sir. Here, you steward, I bet you twenty even I don’t die.”
The steward shook his head.