"Oh, all right," said Skinny Shindle, "but if anything happens out of this, don't say I didn't tell you."
"I won't say so, Skinny," Tip said good-naturedly. "I won't say a word."
"Gentlemen," Felix Craft put in hurriedly, "let's go slow about now. No use saying anything hasty, not a bit of use. Tip's right. None of us want to hurt Hazel, and——"
"And we want to be damn sure we don't want to hurt Hazel," interrupted Tip O'Gorman, his eyes fixed on Rafe Tuckleton's sullen face.
"'T'sall right, 't'sall right," said Rafe, forcing a smile. "Have it your own way, Tip. Tom Walton's safe for all of me."
"Good enough," Tip said heartily, shooting at Rafe a glance that was not completely trustful.
Entered then Jack Murray, wearing a set smile across his scratched face. He nodded to the assemblage, sat down jauntily on the edge of the table and brought out the makings.
"Well!" he said, his eyes on Rafe Tuckleton, rolling the while a meticulous cigarette. "Well, I suppose you've got the ticket all made up."
"Just about," nodded Rafe.
"What prize did I draw?"