“Manslaughter!” shrieked Blackie by and by. “On the level, J. Rufus, did you ever kill anything bigger than a mosquito?”
“I don’t know. I think I made quite a sizable killing down in Doc Turner’s little old town,” he said complacently.
“I don’t think so,” disputed Blackie thoughtfully. “I may be a cheese-head, but I don’t see why you sold your stock, anyhow. Seems to me you had a good graft there. Why didn’t you hold on to it? It was a money-maker.”
“No,” denied Wallingford with decision. “It’s an illegal business, Blackie, and I won’t have anything to do with an illegal business. The first thing you know that lottery will be in trouble with the federal government, and I’m on record as never having conducted any part of it after it became a lottery. Another thing, in less than a year that bunch of crooks will be figuring on how to land the capital prize for themselves under cover. No, Blackie, a quick turn and legal safety for mine, every time. It pays better. Why, I cleaned up thirty thousand dollars net profit on this in three months! Isn’t that good pay?”
“It makes a crook look like a fool,” admitted Blackie Daw.