Mason knit his brows and thought a long time, while Gibbs smoked. Finally Mason shook his head.
"No," he said, "no, Dan, I don't get it. I can understand knocking off a peter--the stuff's right there. All you do is to go take it. I can understand a hold-up, or a heel, or a prowl; I can see how a gun reefs a britch kick and gets a poke--though I couldn't put my hand in a barrel myself and get it out again--without breaking the barrel. I haven't any use for that kind, which you know--but these sure-thing games, the big mitt and the bull con--no, Dan, I can't get hip."
Gibbs laughed.
"Well, I can't explain it, Joe. You heard him string that chump to-night."
Mason dropped that phase of the question and promptly said:
"Dan, I suppose there's games higher up, ain't they?"
Gibbs laughed a superior laugh.
"Higher up? Joe, there's games that beat his just as much as his beats yours. I could name you men--" Then he paused.
Mason had grown very solemn. He was not listening at all to Gibbs, and, after a moment or two, he looked up and said earnestly:
"Dan, what you said a while back is dead right. I'm a damn fool. Look at me now--I've done twenty years, and in all my time I've had less than two thousand bucks."