Cousin Egbert by now was looking slightly disturbed, or outré, as the French put it, but tries to conceal same under an air of sparkling gayety, laughing freely at every little thing in a girlish or painful manner.
"Yes," says he coquettishly; "that Sandy scoundrel is taking it fast out of one pocket, but he's putting it right back into the other. The wheel's loss is the bar's gain."
I looked over to size Sandy's chips and I could see four or five markers that go a hundred apiece.
"I admire your roguish manner that don't fool any one," I says; "but if we was to drink the half of Sandy's winnings, even at your robber prices, we'd all be submerged to the periscope. It looks to me," I goes on, "like the bazaar-robbing genius is not exclusively a male attribute or tendency."
"How many of them knitted crawdabs you sold out there at your booths?" he demands. "Not enough to buy a single Belgian a T-bone steak and fried potatoes."
"Is that so, indeed?" I says. "Excuse me a minute. Standing here in the blinding light of your triumph, I forgot a little matter of detail such as our sex is always wasting its energies on."
So I call Sandy and Buck away from their Belgian atrocities and speak sharply to 'em.
"You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves," I says—"winning all that money and then acting like old Gaspard the Miser in the Chimes of Normandy! Can't you forget your natural avarice and loosen up some?"
"I bought the bar, didn't I?" asks Sandy. "I can't do no more, can I?"
"You can," I says. "Out in that big room is about eighteen tired maids and matrons of Red Gap's most exclusive inner circles yawning their heads off over goods, wares, and merchandise that no one will look at while this sinful game is running. If you got a spark of manhood in you go on out and trade a little with 'em, just to take the curse off your depredations in here."