"You bet! He's a dabster at pinocle."
"Easy, Merry!" cautioned the setter, in a whisper. "If you want to skin the old bologna-sausage out of his shekels, don't puff me up. I can't beat him at his own game."
"Vale, I pet den tollars you can't dot do!" cried Schlitzenheimer. "I nefer vould acknowledgment dot a tog could peat me!"
Frank sternly turned on Boxer.
"What do you mean by getting me into such a scrape?" he demanded, shaking his finger at the setter. "You know I never gamble, and I will not bet on a game of cards. If you make any more such foolish talk, I'll not let you play at all."
The dog hung his head and looked quite ashamed.
"Beg pardon," he whined softly. "I was joking again!"
"I'll blay der fun uf him vor," said Schlitzenheimer. "Id vill peen a creat jokes to said I had a came uf beenuckle blayed mit a tog. Come on."
He hurried out from behind the bar.
"Begorra! Oi'd loike to take a hand in this!" cried Pat O'Grady, as a square table was drawn out and the cards produced. "It's a shlick game av peenockle Oi play."