The Spider replied weakly, "I'se got mine. 'At's plenty."
"What you mean you's got yours? Thought you claimed you was a spo't. You's got money, ain't you? You ain't got yours till you goes broke. Ain't I right, boys?"
The Wildcat made a quick survey of the faces about him.
From the lips of the Mud Turtle, who had silently joined the group, came a come-on verdict. "You sho' is."
"Hear dat?" The Wildcat turned again to the Spindlin' Spider. "Hear dat? You ain't got yours till you goes broke. How much is you got? Shoots it all. Double or nuthin'."
The Spider weakly disgorged his roll. He counted out a total of two hundred dollars.
"Boy—one pass an' I cleans you. Li'l snow flakes, sof'ly fall. Come on, dice, C.O.D.—Bam! An' de black specs read—seven. Hot dam! Boy, you's done. Lady Luck, heah you is!"
The Wildcat pocketed his roll of bills and covered the money with a wide palm wherein lay the taper cubes. He edged through the crowd. With his left hand he reached for the Mud Turtle.
"Come on heah, boy. Dat San F'mcisco train gits nervous doggone soon."
In the vestibule of the Mud Turtle's car on the San Francisco train the Wildcat held out the taper cubes and a handful of winnings. "Ol' Mud Turtle, heah's yo' victory dice an' fo' hund'ed dollars. Dat gits you a new unifawm. Git in dere by de steampipes whilst I tells dem passenger folks where de San F'mcisco train goes to. Hot dam! I knowed dem smelt fish was lucky!"