"Listen for a moment," said the manager, and then with a glance toward the company who stood absorbed and silent under the bright light in the middle of the room, he added, in a low voice, "Mr. Stephenson, I suggest that you return to the table and take the bank. When you call for counters they will be provided. If you lose your first coup the loss will be the loss of the house, and if you win the gain will be your own."
Oscar laughed, and chopping the air impatiently with a pair of gloves which he carried in his hand, he said, "Do you run this house on philanthropic lines then?"
"Hush! At your second coup you will call for fresh cards as you have a right to do, and when you receive them you--you will win. You understand me? You will win!"
The impatient chopping ceased and Oscar stood looking steadfastly at the man's eyes.
"At your next coup and your next you will call for cards as before and at the end of your fourth coup you will rise from the table."
"And then?"
"Then you will divide your earnings with the house, and be richer than you have ever been in your life."
Oscar had listened first with astonishment, then with indignation, and finally with ungovernable wrath. "How dare you? What do you take me for?" he said in a loud, choking voice, and lifting his hand he smote the man with his gloves across his ruddy and smiling face.
The unexpectedness of the attack compelled the manager to utter a startled cry, and in a moment the people from the table were crowding round, asking, "What is it? What's happened?"
But the manager recovered himself in an instant and said: "It's nothing! The gentleman misunderstood something I was saying to him. I beg of you to resume the play."