“You bet your sox,” yelled the strange voice, in chorus with other shouts of approval.
“O' course, I ain't no bettin' man,” went on Bill, insinuatingly, “as a regular thing, but I'd gamble a few jist here on this pint; if the boys was stuck on anythin' costin' about seven hundred dollars, it seems to me likely they'd git it in about two days, per'aps.”
Here Robbie grunted out an “ay” of such fulness of contemptuous unbelief that Bill paused, and, looking over Robbie's head, he drawled out, even more slowly and mildly:
“I ain't much given to bettin', as I remarked before, but, if a man shakes money at me on that proposition, I'd accommodate him to a limited extent.” [“Hear! hear! Bully boy!” yelled Hi again, from the door.] “Not bein' too bold, I cherish the opinion” [again yells of approval from the corner], “that even for this here Gospel plant, seein' The Pilot's rather sot onto it, I b'lieve the boys could find five hundred dollars inside ov a month, if perhaps these fellers cud wiggle the rest out ov their pants.”
Then Robbie was in great wrath and, stung by the taunting, drawling voice beyond all self-command, he broke out suddenly:
“Ye'll no can mak that guid, I doot.”
“D'ye mean I ain't prepared to back it up?”
“Ay,” said Robbie, grimly.
“'Tain't likely I'll be called on; I guess $500 is safe enough,” drawled Bill, cunningly drawing him on. Then Robbie bit.
“Oo ay!” said he, in a voice of quiet contempt, “the twa hunner wull be here and 'twull wait ye long eneuch, I'se warrant ye.”