The rabbi counted out two hundred dollars, but before the Wildcat threw the dice the Mud Turtle beside him spoke up. "I shoots fo' hund'ed on the Wildcat's luck. Shoot's fo' hund'ed. Fade me, boy."
The rabbi grunted and dug into his roll for another four hundred.
The Wildcat turned to the Mud Turtle. "Boy, us is bust does I lose!"
"I been bust befo', Wilecat. So is you. Roll 'em see kin you git double or nuthin'."
The Wildcat said a few words to the dice, and an instant later they rattled across the green cloth. "Cyclone babies, blow dat rabbi to hell! Whuff! An' I reads—ace-dooce. Doggone, Lady Luck, whah at is you?"
The Mud Turtle grabbed the Wildcat by the arm. "Come on heah befo' dey gits yo' clothes."
The Wildcat turned away from the table. "Us sho' needs 'at mascot goat. Was hard luck a minny us done ketched a whale. Trouble wid luck, it's always changin'. Don' stay on de good side long enough fo' a boy to git settled down." He bade farewell to the rabbi. "You sho' was right. I'll say gin comes high. Fo' hund'ed dollars a drink!"
The rabbi laughed a hollow laugh. "Come on back sometime an' try de thousan' dollah gin when you feels strongeh."
"Does I find Lily an' Lady Luck I comes back an' shows you some million-dollar gin—mebbe."
"On your way, boy—at's de quinine talkin'!"