“Why don’t you bet?”
Johnny laughed again.
“I bate.” A Swede standing near Johnny thrust out a five dollar bill.
He won.
“See?” jeered the conman. “You’re no sport. You’re a coward.” He leered at Johnny.
Johnny’s cheek turned a shade redder, but he only smiled.
Again the Swede bet and won.
Again the conman had the word “coward” on his lips. He did not say it.
Johnny was speaking. There was a cold smile on his lips.
“I can tell you one thing, stranger,” Johnny squared his shoulders, “I’m not in the habit of allowing men to call me a coward. I’ll tell you why I don’t play your rotten game, then I’ll tell you something else. That man, and that one, and that one and this Swede are your cappers. You had twenty-five dollars between you when I came. You got five from that stranger who left. When one of your cappers won, he passed the money from hand to hand until it came back to you. If they lost it’s the same. A stranger has about as much chance with a bunch like you as a day-old chick has in the middle of the Atlantic. But say, stranger, you called me a coward. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You’ve got me topped by seventy-five pounds, and you think you know how to handle your dukes. I’ll box you three rounds, and if you touch my face in any round, I’ll give you a five-case note, the last one I have. Not bet, see! Just give! You can’t lose; you may win. What say?”