Tanker shook his head stubbornly.
"Boy, you sure are singin' a different song, all of a sudden. I dunno what the hell happened to you, but you don't even sound like yourself!"
"Okay! Okay! Wait and see when they klobber you with it tonight, Tank, my boy! Wait and see when it hits you square between the eyes."
The Tanker leaped up from the bench, jerking his fists in the air uncontrollably.
"I'll murder him!"
"No you won't. Listen, I been fighting against fixes and fixers all my life, Tanker. I never believed, and I never wanted to believe, that they had it sewed away, that the big operators had us tucked away into their pockets. Now I'm convinced! They sold me their dirty bill of goods. I'm sewed in with the rest of them."
The Tanker shook his fist under Charlie Jingle's face. Oil had drained from his system up into his face and head, lubricating his head-mechanisms as protection from strain, as his head-parts were being overworked. His "skin" looked blotchy.
"Charlie! After this is over, I want quits with you! You hear me? I want quits!"
"Suits me fine," said Charlie Jingle.
"I'll bet—" began Tanker Bell, "—I'll bet you ain't even gonna bet on me! Are you?"