as his reeling brain was capable of thought, he figured that he was now worth about two hundred thousand pounds.
“Oh, Mrs. Windlebird,” he cried, “It's all right after all.”
Mrs. Windlebird sat back in her chair without answering.
“It's all right for every one,” screamed Roland joyfully. “Why, if I've made a couple of hundred thousand, what must Mr. Windlebird have netted. It says here that he is the largest holder. He must have pulled off the biggest thing of his life.”
He thought for a moment.
“The chap I'm sorry for,” he said meditatively, “is Mr. Windlebird's pal. You know. The fellow whom Mr. Windlebird persuaded to sell all his shares to me.”
A faint moan escaped from his hostess's pale lips. Roland did not hear it. He was reading the cricket news.
THE EPISODE OF THE THEATRICAL VENTURE
Third of a Series of Six Stories [First published in Pictorial Review, July 1916]
It was one of those hard, nubbly rolls. The best restaurants charge you sixpence for having the good sense not to eat them. It hit Roland Bleke with considerable vehemence on the bridge of the nose. For the moment Roland fancied that the roof of the Regent Grill-room must have fallen in; and, as this would automatically put an end to the party, he was not altogether sorry. He had never been to a theatrical supper-party before, and within five minutes of his arrival at the present one he had become afflicted with an intense desire never to go to a theatrical supper-party again. To be a success at these gay gatherings one must possess dash; and Roland, whatever his other sterling qualities, was a little short of dash.
The young man on the other side of the table was quite nice about it. While not actually apologizing, he went so far as to explain that it was “old Gerry” whom he had had in his mind when he started the roll on its course. After a glance at old Gerry—a chinless child of about nineteen—Roland felt that it would be churlish to be angry with a young man whose intentions had
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