Suppose you releases a fo', six, eight,
You tries yo' bes' to duplicate.
De same hol's true fo' a five, nine, ten,
But a seven's boun' to git you now an' then.
As I said befo' does a seven come fust
Befo' you makes yo' point, it means you's bust."
In fifteen minutes six ex-victors had joined the circle of innocent bystanders and were hunting for phrases to explain to themselves just how it happened. The Wildcat, stowing away the incoming money with his left hand, swept his victorious right high above his head. In his moist palm nestled his pussonal dice.
"I lets it lay. Shoots it all!"
"Ain't got dat much." The last man was suffering from reduced circumstances.
"How much is you? Shoots de fifty! I'se faded. Gallopers, stan' by me! Stay soopreem. Bam! An' I reads, six-ace. Deppity—you's done!"