"You ain't all wrong, girl."
"You home evenings, Blutch, regular like."
"You poor little thing!"
"You'll play safe, Blutch? Play safe to win!"
"I wish I'd have went into the farmin' three years ago, Babe, the week I hauled down eleven thou'."
"You was too fed up with luck then, Blutch. I knew better 'n to ask."
"Lord bless my soul! and the poor little thing was afraid to say it was a chicken-farm she wanted!"
"Promise me, Blutch, you'll play 'em close—to win!"
"Al's openin' up his new rooms to-night. Me and Joe are goin' to play 'em fifty-fifty. It looks to me like a haul, Babe."
"He's crooked, Blutch, I tell you."