“Why not?” repeated Insgate.
“Gentlemen,” said Farlough, smiling, “I would represent the minority were I to do else than agree with you. Why not?”
“Very well. From now on, then, we attempt forgetting. Each in his own way. From time to time we report progress or regress.”
“Each in his own way! Are there so many ways to forgetfulness? I can only think of two: work and drink.”
“Ah, but there is Woman!”
“True, there is Woman. Strictly speaking, I considered her included in—however, that is but a quibble! Personally, I have no preference. I will take what you gentlemen leave.” It was Wooler who said this.
“Would you put us upon our consciences? No; let Dame Chance take a hand in dealing. We write the names—so!—and we each draw—so! Mine is work.” That was Farlough’s luck.
Insgate’s slip said “Drink.”
“For me,” said Wooler, “the Woman.” He lifted his glass, laughing quietly. “I wonder who she is. Well, we shall see.”