last. But I don't like to seem a piker. I'll just make sure of this
one: it can't win. And at that, I'll be another fifteen dollars in."

Deliberately he shifted the nineteen remaining of his original stack
to keep company with his winning chip on the Double O....

A minute or so later the man at his elbow said excitedly: "I'll be
damned if it didn't repeat! Can you beat that--!"

P. Sybarite stared stupidly.

"How's that?" he said.

"Double O," the croupier answered: "the second time."

"This is becoming uncanny," P. Sybarite observed to himself;
and--"Cash!" said he aloud with cold decision.

Seven new one-hundred dollar certificates were placed in his hand. In
a daze he counted, folded, and pocketed them. While thus engaged he
heard the ball spin again. His original twenty dollars remained upon
the double naught. Ten turned up: his stake was gathered in.

"You've had enough," Intelligence advised.

"Perfectly true," P. Sybarite admitted.

This time his anatomy proved quite docile. He found himself at the
foot of the steps, fatuously smiling at the doorkeeper.