He turned round an' raked his stakes from off that roulette board,
An' the whiskey wasn't guilty for his huskiness o' voice:
"Boys," says he, "I pass this deal right here an', by the Lord,
I blow my wad on somethin' else—you all kin take yer choice.
"It's well enough to whoop things up an' get a gorgeous head
But mighty wise to recolleck yer coin's just gone to grass.
I'm a-goin' to take a whirl at Santy Claus, instead,
Wish that toys was in my line, but maybe these'll pass."
Every cent he skirmished, from his hat-band to his pants,
Went into the apron that the little one held out;