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A Duel or Two for Mr. Ditrichstein
17
“We have no secrets, no debts, and our life is open to the world/' Mrs. Leo declared, after she had confessed to being in a mood of displeasure.
“To be a good liar you’ve got to be smart, be clever — and smart, clever people bore me; they’re so obvious.”
And Mr. Leo, half of whose business is to write half the clever lines he utters from the stage, assented with a twinkle in his nearest fun-loving eye. He has small eyes that sometimes grin.
“Leo isn’t a liar,” Mrs. Leo went on ; “he hates a liar as I do — but you can’t believe anything he says.”
“I say!” he mildly protested.
“If he says he’ll go out tomorrow, you can bank on his spending the whole day at home. If he solemnly promises me not to play the races, he’ll go out and lose five thousand dollars.” The wives of racing men, I murmured to myself, never reproach them with their winnings.
What I said aloud was: “Artists are all born gamblers.”
“Leo is a born dirty gambler,” said Mrs. Leo, delightfully. “He took me to Monte Carlo and promised to play just once — twenty francs ”
“Tell that story and I’ll tell the part that’s on you!” he warned.
“I’ll tell it myself,” she flared. “But not till I’ve told how you bet on the zero at roulette, and won thirty-six times your wager, and I dragged you out of the place by main strength.
"But he wouldn’t be contented to stay away a winner. All day he pleaded to go back to the tables, and of course we finally went back that evening. He had on a soft hat with the brim well down around his bald head. My white hair was cheerfully exposed.”