“And how was your trip, Guy?” asked Ginger Horton, sniffing a bit, just to be on the safe side it seemed.
Guy shrugged.
“Oh, same old six-and-seven, Ginger,” he said.
“I beg your pardon,” interjected his Aunt Agnes smartly.
Esther beamed, truly in league at last with her long-dead favorite sister’s only son.
“It means not too good, Agnes,” she said emphatically. “It’s an expression used in dice-playing: You ‘come out’—isn’t that right, Guy?—on ‘six,’ your point, then you throw, in this case, a ‘seven,’ which means: no good, you lose.” She looked to her Guy. “That’s it, isn’t it, dear?”
“Oh, it’s a gambling expression,” said Agnes Edwards with a certain amused complacency, though she must have raised her cup rather too hurriedly, for Esther was content merely to beam at Guy.
“Then your trip wasn’t ... too good, is that it?” asked Ginger Horton seriously, setting her own cup down squarely, pressing the napkin briefly to her lips.
Esther started to answer, but in the end looked to Guy instead.
“Oh, it’s just a manner of speaking,” said Guy Grand easily. “What really gives the expression bite, of course, is that six is generally an easy point to make, you see, and, well ... but then the fact is really, that the ... uh, the national economy, so to speak, isn’t in the best of shape just now. Not a buyer’s market at all really. A bit bearish as a matter of fact.” He gave a chuckle, looking at the Pekinese.