Far from being pleased at this Peter grew angry. He felt that Fate was ironically evening up things for him by burdening him with luck and prowess in something which made no difference and withholding its favor in all the important aspects of life. Testing out his theory he picked up a straggler, a man he knew but slightly, who happened to wander into the club at that moment. "I'll roll you Indian dice," challenged Peter. "A dollar a throw." Good luck continued to plague him although he knew that its attentions were not honorable! At the end of three quarters of an hour Peter was $85 ahead. "That's enough," he said with irritation. "You're not going to quit now that you've got me in the hole," protested his opponent. "Aren't you going to give me a chance to get back?" "You wouldn't have any chance. If we keep up I'm sure to win hundreds of dollars from you. Nobody can beat me just now. Look here if you don't believe me I'll give you a chance. I'll bet you a hundred dollars to ten on one roll." "What's the matter with you, Neale?" asked the loser. "Are you soused?" "Not yet," said Peter. "You're not taking any advantage of me. I tell you I know. I can't lose. Go ahead and roll." "All right, if you want to throw money away it's not my fault." He took the leather cup and rolled a pair of sixes. Peter slammed the dice down and four aces and a five danced out. "No more," said Peter. "It's no use. That's $95 you owe me." "Would you mind if I held you up on that till next week? I'm sort of busted just now." "No hurry, anytime'll do." "Ninety-five, that's right, isn't it? Lend me $5 that'll make it an even hundred. Easier to remember." Peter gave him the five. He knew that even in his gambling triumphs there would be some catch. Wandering over to the bar alone he had two Martinis and then a Bronx but nothing seemed to happen. Looking at his watch he found that it was still only a little after three and he went up town to Fourteenth Street to a burlesque house. The show was called "Dave Shean's Joy Girls." When Peter came in Shean as a German comedian with a false stomach and a red wig had just volunteered to take the place of the bullfighter played by the straight man. "Do you think you can kill the bull?" asked the straight man. "I don't know dot I kills him," said Shean, "but I can throw him." It annoyed Peter that everybody else in the theatre laughed so loudly. "Yesterday," continued the real toreador, "I killed four bulls in the arena." "I had him for breakfast." "What are you talking about? What did you have for breakfast?" "Farina." Peter thought he would go but he waited in the hope that it might get better. Presently Shean and the tall man got into an argument. The serious one of the pair contended that Otto Schmaltz, the character played by Shean, did not have a whole shirt on his back.