"Does yo' crave licker ten dollars' worth, sometimes dey's a white mule hitched in de back room."
The Wildcat pulled off a diplomatic boner. He displayed his thousand dollar roll and peeled therefrom a ten-dollar bill.
"Whah at kin I trade dis frog skin fo' a ra'r o' licker?"
Internally the Spindln' Spider suddenly awakened. He showed no outward sign of the agitation which the sight of the money had inspired, but for half an hour he played heavy politics, and thereafter, in a company of half a dozen hard-boiled crap shooters, the Wildcat began to pay for the indiscreet display of his cash.
"Leave dis Pullman boy take a r'ar at de clickers."
"'At's me. Hand me dem bones. C.O.D.—come on, dice! Field han's, rally round. Shoots fifty dollars. Shower down, brothers. Eagle bones, see kin you fly. Bam! I reads seven. I lets it lay. Shoots a hund'ed dollars! Fade me crazy, folks, fade me! Bam! I reads six—four. Slow death. Resurrection dice, an' I reads four—six."
The Wildcat hauled down part of his winnings.
"Shoots a hundred dollahs. Shower down, brothers. Spark in de powdeh! Both barrels. Right an' left. Bam! An' dey reads 'leven. Mowin' money. Us does a cash business. I lets it lay. Shower down yo' money!"
The Spindlin' Spider faced the Wildcat. "Boy, you donates."
"Don't sass me. Headed home wid feathers in yo' teeth. Telegraph dice, click fo' de coin. Bam!"