"Batterin', one; sloppin' up, two; three-card trick, three; an'—an'—that song 'n' dance, four—four; an'—an' enhalin' cig'rettes, five—five—" Here he stopped and asked if he should take the next hand.
"Yes, go on; let's have the hull of it."
"Well, then, I knows that cuss-word you taught me—that long one, you know; that's six, ain't it? Oh, yes, 'n' I knows that other cuss-word that that parson told us was never forgiven—remember, don't you? Well, that's seven—seven. I guess that's about all—jus' an even seven."
"You sure that's all, kid?"
"Well, darn it, Red, ain't that enough fer a prushun? You don't know much more yerself—no, you don't, 'n' you's three times old's I am"; and he began to pout.
"Now, kid, d' you know what I wants you to do?"
"Bet cher life I do! Ain' cher be'n tellin' me fer the las' year? You wants me to be a blowed-in-the-glass stiff. Ain't them the words?"
"No, kid. I've changed my mind. Yer goin' home now, ain' cher?"
"Jus' fer a little while. I'm comin' back to you, ain't I?"
"No, you ain't, kid. Yer goin' home fer good. Cigarette's goin' to take you, 'n' you mustn't come back. Listenin'?"