“Pitch in an' eat,” Smoke encouraged.
“They—they ain't worth no ten dollars,” Wild Water said slowly.
Shorty accepted the challenge. “A thing's worth what you can get for it, ain't it?” he demanded.
“Yes, but—”
“But nothin'. I'm tellin' you what we can get for 'em. Ten a throw, just like that. We're the egg trust, Smoke an' me, an' don't you forget it. When we say ten a throw, ten a throw goes.” He mopped his plate with a biscuit. “I could almost eat a couple more,” he sighed, then helped himself to the beans.
“You can't eat eggs like that,” Wild Water objected. “It—it ain't right.”
“We just dote on eggs, Smoke an' me,” was Shorty's excuse.
Wild Water finished his own plate in a half-hearted way and gazed dubiously at the two comrades. “Say, you fellows can do me a great favor,” he began tentatively. “Sell me, or lend me, or give me, about a dozen of them eggs.”
“Sure,” Smoke answered. “I know what a yearning for eggs is myself. But we're not so poor that we have to sell our hospitality. They'll cost you nothing—” Here a sharp kick under the table admonished him that Shorty was getting nervous. “A dozen, did you say, Wild Water?”
Wild Water nodded.