"Whoop!" exulted McGlory. "Somebody's going to get her for a cartwheel—one single, solitary piece of the denomination of eight bits. Mebby it's me? Quien sabe?"
"There were two hundred tickets, you say, and they were sold at a dollar each?"
"Keno, correct, and then some."
"And you have sixty tickets, Joe?"
"Again your bean is on the right number, pard."
"Well, if you get the boat she will have cost you sixty dollars."
"But it's only one ticket out of the sixty that wins her, Matt. Fifty-nine plunks are squandered, and it's one big dollar that pulls her down to me. I'd have bought more, if I'd had the dinero."
"I might take a chance myself," observed Matt, "although I haven' any more use for a motor launch here in 'Frisco than has a stray cowboy by the name of McGlory."
"Nary, you won't, Matt," said McGlory. "Tickets are all gone."
"What in the world are you going to do with the craft if you win her?"