if you’ve finished your coffee, suppose we match one of your insufficient coins for the impending blow of Fate. What have I up?”
“Heads,” called Ives.
“Heads it is,” said Forster, lifting his hand. “I lose. We forgot to agree upon a plan for the winner to escape. I suggest that when the waiter comes you make a remark about telephoning to a friend. I will hold the fort and the dinner check long enough for you to get your hat and be off. I thank you for an evening out of the ordinary, Mr. Ives, and wish we might have others.”
“If my memory is not at fault,” said Ives, laughing, “the nearest police station is in MacDougal Street. I have enjoyed the dinner, too, let me assure you.”
Forster crooked his finger for the waiter. Victor, with a locomotive effort that seemed to owe more to pneumatics than to pedestrianism, glided to the table and laid the card, face downward, by the loser’s cup. Forster took it up and added the figures with deliberate care. Ives leaned back comfortably in his chair.
“Excuse me,” said Forster; “but I thought you were going to ring up Grimes about that theater party for Thursday night. Had you forgotten about it?”
“Oh,” said Ives, settling himself more comfortably, “I can do that later on. Get me a glass of water, waiter.”
“Want to be in at the death, do you?” asked Forster.
