The group about the crap table thinned out. The Wildcat picked up the dice. "Does you crave high life, Honey Tone, read a chapteh f'm de clickers."
"I might ride a couple of r'ars," the uplifter conceded.
The Wildcat produced a bulky roll. Several pairs of gleaming eyeballs about him testified to the exceptional dimensions of his capital.
To the Wildcat's surprise Honey Tone hauled out a wallet in which lay a thick package of twenty-dollar bills. Hope burned strong in the Wildcat's chest, and with the flame of hope the Wildcat warmed the dice within his hand.
"Shoots ten dollahs. Fade me, Honey Tone, does you crave action."
"You's faded."
"Wham! Ah lets it lay. Shoots twenty dollahs."
"Roll 'em." Honey Tone dropped a twenty-dollar bill, which landed as gently as a snowflake on the green surface of the table. "Bam! Five an' a deuce."
Under the heat of the Wildcat's luck the uplifter's green snowflake melted into his opponent's roll.
"Ah lets it lay. Shoots fo'ty. Fo'ty ways. Shower down, Honey Tone. Mah luck builds homes fo' de ignorant poor. I's got de musk smell. Bam! Land, little Dove ob Peace. Land wid yo' bill full ob greens. An' I reads fo' tray!"