Toboso reflected. “There ain't many of your age on the road.” An idea struck him suddenly. “But supposing you were going sort of experimenting, like that—and there's some folks that do—supposing you could lay your hands on a little bunch of money for luck, I don't see nothing to stop.”
“Why, I think there is some in my desk.” Toboso leaned forward and pulled his beard. The table creaked under his elbow. “How much?”
“I will see. Of course you are quite right.”
“At your age, Elder.”
“It is not as if I were younger.”
Father Wiliston rose and hurried out.
Toboso sat still and blinked at the lamp. “My Gord!” he murmured and moaned confidentially, “here's a game!”
After some time Father Wiliston returned. “Do you think we could start now?” he asked eagerly.
“Why sure, Elder. What's hindering?”
“I am fortunate to find sixty dollars. Really, I didn't remember. And here's a note I have written to my son to explain. I wonder what Bettina did with my hat.”