Crayford examined them. “Six!” he exclaimed. “There! you have a second chance, in spite of yourself. You are neither under nor over—you throw again.”
“Bah!” growled the Bear. “It’s not worth the trouble of getting up for. Somebody else throw for me.” He suddenly looked at Frank. “You! you have got what the women call a lucky face.”
Frank appealed to Crayford. “Shall I?”
“Yes, if he wishes it,” said Crayford.
Frank cast the dice. “Two! He stays! Wardour, I am sorry I have thrown against you.”
“Go or stay,” reiterated Wardour, “it’s all one to me. You will be luckier, young one, when you cast for yourself.”
Frank cast for himself.
“Eight. Hurrah! I go!”
“What did I tell you?” said Wardour. “The chance was yours. You have thriven on my ill luck.”
He rose, as he spoke, to leave the hut. Crayford stopped him.