“I’m surprised to see so many old people in the Rooms.”
“That’s right. Gamblin’s the last infirmity of ignoble minds. When folks are ower dodderin’ for wine an’ wimmen, gamblin’s a’ that’s left tae them. Look at that auld Bianca there. They say she wis the mistress o’ the King o’ Italy. Whit things she must hae seen! Noo she goes roon like a spectre mumblin’ an’ breakin’ wind every time she plays. Weel, I’m feelin’ auld an’ tired masel. Ma nerves are no whit they were. There’s nae doot it gets ye. It’s a crool, crool game....”
They sought the fresher air of the atrium and lighting their cigarettes sat down on a recessed divan of padded leather.
“MacTaggart is our great hope,” said Mr. Tope. “He is patience and pertinacity personified. He has now been sitting at the same place at the same table from the beginning of the play to the end for two years.”
“For three years,” said Mr. MacTaggart. “I’ve got the record o’ two hundred thoosand consecutive coups.”
“MacTaggart claims he knows more about roulette than all the rest of us put together.”
“So I do. Ye’re like a lot o’ children. Ye ken naethin’. When ye’ve spent night after night for three years compilin’ an’ analyzin’ permanencies, ye’ll begin tae hae some glimmerin’ o’ the mysterious workin’s o’ the laws o’ chance. I’ve studied the game noo for twenty years and I’m jist beginnin’ tae know a little, a verry little.”
“Look!” said Mr. Tope, “there’s that poor little Emslie girl waiting as usual for her mother.”
On one of the benches near the exit from the Rooms Hugh saw a slight girl with a very sweet face. Her chestnut hair was braided behind and her colouring was fresh, and girlish. She sat with her slim hands clasped in her lap, looking anxious and forlorn.
“That,” said Mr. Tope, who seemed to know everything and everybody, “is one of the hardest cases. She’s only sixteen, and has been left a few thousand pounds by her grandfather. But her mother’s a gambler enragée. She’s lost all her own money, and now they say she’s playing with the girl’s.”