“Certainly. Thousands are doin’ it this very day. Why, I can go in any time and make a couple of louis.”
“I wish I could.”
“So you can, sir, with a little experience. You’re goin’ to Monte?”
“No, Menton.”
“Ah, that’s a pity. Mentony’s too full of English, too deadly dull. Monte’s a sporty little gem, the most beautiful spot on earth—and the wickedest.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“Interestin’ ... I should say so. There’s no square mile on God’s globe so packed with drama. There’s no theatre a patch on that Casino. You’d better get off at Monte, sir, and let me put you on to my system. Sixteen hundred francs capital is all you need, and I guarantees you a daily profit of from twenty to eighty per cent.”
Hugh thought of the poor two thousand francs that was to last him for six months.
“I’ll think over it. Meantime I’ve arranged to go to Menton.”
“Well, we’ll surely see you at the tables before long. By the way, sir, you see that gentleman with the white spats? He’s a English gentleman, a Mister Jarvie Tope. Very nice man, but he’s got a system that’s no good. Don’t let him fool you with it.”