“If we don’t get off this everlasting sand bar before daylight,” Mike said in a moment, “there’ll be a procession of river boats up here to know what’s wrong. They’ll all be wanting to pull us off, and they’ll all be wanting a pocketful of money for doing it. Have you got any money, Gid?”
“Have I got any money?” repeated Gid. “If the whole world was selling for a dollar, I couldn’t buy dirt enough to stop a watch! I was lucky enough to get out of Louisville with a whole skin. What did you do with your money?” he asked, looking Mike keenly in the eye.
“I bought lottery tickets with mine,” Mike replied. “I’ve got the lottery tickets in my pocket yet, and I never have any luck when I have the things around. Honest, Gid,” the Irishman continued, “I’ve carried lottery tickets in my clothes for five years, and during all that time no band ever played in front of me on the street. And that’s a fact, if you want to know!”
“Mike,” Gid observed with a smile, “do you study the dream book every night and morning? You’re as superstitious as an old woman!”
“Now look here, Gid,” continued Mike. “That’s the exact truth I told you about those lottery tickets. Look here, now, here’s an illustration. I was standing on South Clark street, Chicago, one morning with three Louisiana lottery tickets in my pocket. There was a procession coming down the street with twenty bands in it. And I said to the boys who were with me that I would bet the cigars for the crowd that there wouldn’t a band play when passing the spot where we stood.”
“You got your nerve to bet on a hoodoo,” Gid laughed.
Jule was now becoming interested in the conversation, which he had heard from his position at the prow, and drew closer to the two men. He noticed that they used remarkably good language, and also that they seemed to know Chicago well, so he resolved that he would try to learn more about them as soon as an opportunity offered.
“That lottery ticket hoodoo is one that is safe to bet on at any spot in the road,” Mike continued. “Well, as I was saying, there was a procession coming up South Clark street with twenty bands in it, and I was betting there wouldn’t a band play in front of the spot where we stood. This was on account of the lottery tickets I had in my pocket. I was just plumb hoodooed with those tickets. Why, look here!” he continued, “if I had thrown those tickets overboard, we wouldn’t be on this sand bar now. I tell you they have just plumb hoodooed me. I think I’ll throw them overboard now.”
“What about the twenty bands and the procession?” asked Jule, with a grin on his face. “Tell me about that.”
“Hello, kid!” Mike said with a chuckle. “Did you hear me talking that fool stuff about the lottery tickets?”