“All that’s the matter with you,” insisted the dangling Meek, “is that you know Gus and his men will give you a whipping. They’d done it, anyhow. I haven’t helped them much. I haven’t helped them hardly at all.”
Craney howled in rage. “Why… you… you…”
And then Oliver Meek did one of those things no one ever expected him to do, least of all himself.
“I’ll bet you my spaceship,” he said, “against anything you got.”
Astonished, Craney opened his hand and let him down on the floor.
“You’ll what?” he roared.
“I’ll bet you my spaceship,” said Meek, the madness still upon him, “that Twenty-three will beat you.”
He rubbed it in. “I’ll even give you odds.”
Craney gasped and sputtered. “I don’t want any odds,” he yelped. “I’ll take it even. My moss patch against your ship.”
Someone was calling Meek’s name in the crowd.