Fate gave him the cue; it whispered
in his ear, "Put down a hundred--you have it--and win a thousand; then
you can save Alan Porter--can keep this misery from the girl that is to
you as your own life."
Mortimer listened eagerly; to the babbler at his side; to the whisper in
his ear; to himself, that spoke within himself. Even if it were not all
true, if Lauzanne were beaten, what of it? He would lose a hundred
dollars, but that would not ruin him; it would cause him to save and
pinch a little, but he was accustomed to self-denial.
"Will the betting men take a hundred dollars from me on this horse,
Lauzanne?" he asked, after the minute's pause, during which these
thoughts had flashed through his mind.
"Will dey take a hundred? Will dey take a t'ousand! Say, what you
givin' me?"
"If Lauzanne won, I'd win a thousand, would I?"
"If you put it down straight; but you might play safe--split de hundred,
fifty each way, win an' show; Larcen'll be one, two, tree, sure."
"I want to win a thousand," declared Mortimer.
"Den you've got to plump fer a win; he's ten to one."
Mortimer could hardly understand himself; he was falling in with the
betting idea. It was an age since he stood at his desk in that bank,
abhorrent of all gambling methods, to the present moment, when he was
actually drawing from his pocket a roll of bills with which to bet on a
horse.
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