“Ah ain’ int’rusted in five-dollah bettahs,” Pro added, rubbing salt into the hurt.
“Five dollah?” Mr. Fox exclaimed indignantly. “Pro, when Ah’s got faith Ah bets five hundred dollah.”
“Mebbe so,” Pro commented in unconvinced accents. “Wha’ dat git me?”
“Dat,” asserted Mr. Fox, with emphasis, “git yoh twenty-fibe pussent ob all Ah wins.”
“Ah ain’ int’rusted,” said Pro, proceeding about his duties with an air of finality.
“Lissen at reason, Pro,” Mr. Fox argued in quick alarm. “Twenty-fibe am mah reg’lar pussent, but ’tween frien’s lak yoh an’ me, it’s forty pussent.”
“Fifty neahrer right,” commented Pro, still busy.
“Fifty an’ me takin’ all de chanst? Fohty am gen’rous.”
“An’ show me de tickets?” Pro’s tone was an ultimatum.
“Doan yoh trus’ me, Pro?” Mr. Fox registered indignant surprise.