CHAPTER XI.
“LONG ODDS.”
For a wonder, Tom Hammond could not sleep. Usually, when the last thing had been done, and he was assured that everything was in perfect train for the morning’s issue, he ate a small basin of boiled milk and bread, which he invariably took by way of a “night-cap,” then went to bed, and slept like a tired ploughman. But to-night slumber would have none of him.
“It must be the various excitements of the day,” he muttered. “That story of Ralph’s Caribbean child was enough to keep a fellow’s brain working for a week. Then there was meeting Ralph so unexpectedly, just, too, when I so lusted for his presence and help. Then there was that Joyce item——”
His mind trailed off to the scene of the morning, every item of it starting up in a new and vivid light. Suddenly he recalled the booklet Mrs. Joyce had given him.
“I can’t sleep,” he murmured; “I’ll find that thing and read it.”
His fingers sought the electric switch. The next moment the room was full of light. He got out of bed, passed quickly through to his dressing-room, found the coat that he had worn that morning, and secured the booklet.
He went back again to bed, and, lying on his elbow, opened the dainty little printed thing and began to read thus:
“LONG ODDS”