Warden laughed, and recounted his before–dinner experiences in the Casino.
“By gad!” cried the other, “I wish I’d been there. I know that German Johnny—let me see, he has a horse running to–morrow. Here is the programme—third race—Baron von Gröbelstein’s ‘Black Mask.’ Eh, what? Oh, that is the gee–gee’s name right enough, but it hasn’t an earthly.”
To cloak his amazement, Warden pretended to be interested in the entries. “Black Mask” was Number Thirteen on the card. He could not help smiling.
“I feel rather superstitious to–day,” he said. “Will you back that horse for me?”
“Certainly, dear boy. But you are throwing your money away. It’s a fifty to one shot.”
“I don’t mind. It is the Casino’s money, anyhow.”
Warden’s pocket–book, reduced somewhat in bulk by the visit to the jeweler’s, came in evidence again.
“Fifty louis,” he said.
“My dear fellow, it’s rank lunacy.”