"I hope you've been enjoying yourself in this Eden of yours," he said,
sourly.
Conniston sent his hat spinning across the room, to lodge behind the
bed, and laughed.
"You've called the turn, Sobersides! I've been having the time of my
young life. And now all I have to do is sit tight to see--"
"See--what?" drawled Roger.
"I've laid a bet, and it's wedged so and hedged so that I win both
ways!" Greek chuckled gleefully at the memory of it.
"What sort of a bet?"
"Two hundred dollars!"
Hapgood put down his magazine and got to his feet, plainly concerned.
"You don't mean that, Greek?"
"I mean exactly that." Conniston tossed to the bed a small handful of
greenbacks and silver. "This is all that's left to the firm of
Conniston and Hapgood."
With quick, nervous fingers Hapgood swept up the money and counted it.
His eyes showing the uneasiness within him, he turned to the jubilant
Conniston.
"There are just twenty-seven dollars and sixty cents. Are you drunk?"
Conniston giggled, his amusement swelling in pace with Hapgood's
dawning discomfiture.
"I told you I had made a bet. I have laid a wager with the Fates. And
right now, my dear Roger, while we sit comfortably and smoke and wait,
the Fates are deciding things for us!"
Roger paused, regarding him. "Yes, you're drunk. If you are not, is it
asking too much to suggest that you explain?"
"No.
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