"Shoots twenty dollars." The Wildcat's announcement leaped from a pair of belligerent lungs.
"Ain't got but 'leven fifty." Honey Tone's voice was husky.
"Shoots 'leven fifty." The game was delayed a moment while the Wildcat hunted for appropriate minor currency. "Heah's de fifty cents I stahted wid. Lily, at ease!" The Southern Hemisphere of the mascot subsided.
"Honey Tone, you sin-'fested uplifteh, feel de axe. Bam! Dey reads four trey. Lily, at res'."
The victorious Wildcat added the last of his winnings to the bulky roll inside his pocket. "'At winds yo' up, big boy. De Supreem leadin' mule rides easier now. Yo' weighs six hund'ed dollahs less."
A unit on the outer fringe of the pop-eyed audience pressed forward to where the Wildcat stood. "Same ol' cyclone," he said in greeting. "Wilecat, you 'membehs me? I ain't seed sich a fust-class cleanin' since us fit de battle of Bo'deaux an' yo' win all de payday us boys got."
The Wildcat suddenly recognized the speaker. "Backslid! How come yo' heah? Hot dog! I sho' is glad to see yo'."
"Ah come home casual, count of stummik mis'ry th'ee weeks afteh yo' lef Bo'deaux," the Backslid Baptist explained. "Sho' is glad to see yo'."
"You 'membehs Honey Tone?" The Wildcat introduced the uplifter. "Honey Tone leads de parade. Us starts in five minutes. Jine in, Backslid, an' yo' marches 'longside ob me an' Lily."
"Sho' 'steem to, Wilecat, but I takes mah run dis aftehnoon."