Mortimer interposed. “The gentleman means Lauzanne,” he explained.
Faust glared in the speaker's face. “Why th' 'll don't he talk English then; I'm no Chinaman, or a mind reader, to guess what he wants. Lauzanne is nine to one; how much dye want?”
“Lay me ten?” asked Old Bill of the bookmaker.
“To how much?”
“A hun'red; an' me frien' wants a hun'red on, too.”
“I'll do it,” declared Faust, impatiently. “Ten hundred to one, Lauzanne!” he called over his shoulder to his clerk, taking the bettor's money; “an' the number is—?”
“Twenty-five, tree-four-six!” answered Old Bill. “Pass him yer dust,” he continued, turning to his companion.
The latter handed his money to Faust.
“Lauzanne!” advised Old Bill.
“A thousand-to-hundred-Lauzanne, win; an' the number is” he stretched out his hand, and turning over Mortimer's dangling badge, read aloud, “Twenty-five, three-five-seven.”