complaisance of a seasoned student of mankind to mark an individuality
at once insinuating and forceful.

"You were asking for me, I believe?" pursued this person, with
complete suavity.

P. Sybarite pursed doubtful lips. "I'm afraid," he replied
pleasantly, "you have the advantage of me.... Let's see: this is my
thirty-second birthday...."

The ball was spinning. He deposited four chips on the square numbered
32.

"I am Mr. Penfield," the stranger explained.

"Really?" P. Sybarite jumped up and cordially seized his hand. "I hope
I see you well to-night."

Releasing the hand, he sat down.

"Quite well, thank you; in fact, never better." With a slight smile
Mr. Penfield nodded toward the gaming table. "Having a good time?"

"_Thirty-two, red, even_," observed the croupier....

"Oh, tolerable, tolerable," assented P. Sybarite, blandly accepting
counters that called for seven hundred dollars....

"In one year from to-day, I shall be thirty-three," he reckoned; and
shifted a maximum to the square designated by that number....