"Shake!" he said.
Bennie took the proffered hand.
"Here's hoping you'll come to your own!" he remarked, grimly.
The clasped hands each fell to its own. Morrison's hands went to his pocket as he stretched out his crossed legs with a thankful look on his face.
"I'm not specially troubled about myself. I've had fairly good luck looking out for Patrick Morrison, Esq. It's these poor devils around here that's troubling me. They get nipped and pinched at every turn of the cards."
"It's God's truth you're talking. And you want to help them same poor devils?"
"That's what."
"Then listen to me. Smash your roulette and faro. Burn down the Blue Goose, first taking out your whisky that'll burn only the throats of the fools who drink it. Do that same, and you'll see fat grow on lean bones, and children's pants come out of the shade of the patches."
Morrison lifted his hat, scratching his head meditatively.
"That isn't exactly what I'm at."