"Talk to 'em, Honey Tone." One of the uplifter's admirers offered verbal encouragement.
"Dey does de talkin'. Shower down, Wildcat. Shoots two hund'ed."
The Wildcat hesitated.
"Shower down," Honey Tone repeated. "You craves action. Git in de collar. Don't stan' theh poisoned on one foot, like de iron lady in de park."
The Wildcat glanced about him. He saw several pairs of heavy lips curling in the bow of derision. He counted out a handful of greenbacks. "'At's two hund'ed," he said heavily. "Roll 'em." His neck itched. He sensed the impact of the axe. "How come I crazy?"
The rolling dice halted. The class in addition announced that four and three made seven.
"I mows de lettuce." Honey Tone picked up his winnings. "Shoots a hund'ed."
The Wildcat audited his capital. "Sixty's all I got."
"Shoots sixty."
The Wildcat took a deep breath and held on to it until he read on the clicking cubes the final message of disaster.