Racey nodded again and squatted down on his heels. He picked up a stick and squinted along its length.
"None of my business, of course," he said, casually, "but would you mind telling me how much you lost to McFluke?"
"About seven thousand."
Racey looked up at the sky. Seven thousand dollars. The full amount of the mortgage and two thousand more. And McFluke had it all.
"You see," said Mr. Dale, dolefully. "I began to make money after I'd been here awhile and my health come back. Yeah, I made money all right, all right." He pushed back his hat and scratched a grizzled head. "I had luck," he added. "But you wasn't round here then. You'd gone to the Bend."
"Yep, I'd gone to the Bend, damitall, and it shore seems like I'd stayed there too long. Didn't you ever guess McFluke's wheel wasn't straight?"
"Aw, it was so straight. Mac wouldn't cheat nobody. Yo're—yo're mistaken, Racey."
"I am, huh? Likell I'm mistaken. I know what I'm talking about. I tell you flat, McFluke is so crooked he could swallow a nail and spit out a corkscrew. And he's got that wheel trained. You just bet he has. Look under the table and see what he's doing with his feet or his knees. My Gawd, Dale, didn't you know they make roulette wheels with a brake like a wagon?"
"I—I've heard of 'em," Mr. Dale nodded, hesitatingly. "But I'm shore
Mac's is on the level."
"And you bet seven thousand dollars it was on the level, didn't you?"