table. "Toodles" Brown was profoundly absorbed in his own gloomy run of luck, and paid no heed to Brainard's modest investment of twenty-five counters worth a dollar each.
The life-saver had little expectation of winning. This was a distraction, an excitement, a part of his rare "day off," and he hung breathless on the surging uncertainty of every play. He noticed that "Toodles" Brown had forsaken his "pet numbers down the middle row," and with a reckless impulse he placed five dollars on each of the trio. The croupier gathered in the stake as callously as if a large part of a surfman's monthly wage had not been lost in this heady plunge.
"I think a zero is about due, and it stands for my prospects all right," thought Brainard as he slid five chips into the space around the "single 0."
The purring ball was uncommonly coy, and Brainard felt his heart thumping while it wavered undecided. When it nestled into its chosen nook, the croupier sung out:
"The single 0 has it."
