ain."

I looked over to size Sandy's chips and I could see four or five markers
that go a hundred apiece.

"I admire your roguish manner that don't fool any one," I says; "but if
we was to drink the half of Sandy's winnings, even at your robber
prices, we'd all be submerged to the periscope. It looks to me," I goes
on, "like the bazaar-robbing genius is not exclusively a male attribute
or tendency."

"How many of them knitted crawdabs you sold out there at your booths?"
he demands. "Not enough to buy a single Belgian a T-bone steak and fried
potatoes."

"Is that so, indeed?" I says. "Excuse me a minute. Standing here in the
blinding light of your triumph, I forgot a little matter of detail such
as our sex is always wasting its energies on."

So I call Sandy and Buck away from their Belgian atrocities and speak
sharply to 'em.

"You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves," I says--"winning all that
money and then acting like old Gaspard the Miser in the Chimes of
Normandy! Can't you forget your natural avarice and loosen up some?"

"I bought the bar, didn't I?" asks Sandy. "I can't do no more, can I?"

"You can," I says. "Out in that big room is about eighteen tired maids
and matrons of Red Gap's most exclusive inner circles yawning their
heads off over goods, wares, and merchandise that no one will look at
while this sinful game is running. If you got a spark of manhood in you
go on out and trade a little with 'em, just to take the curse off your
depredations in here."

"Why, sure!" says Sandy. He goes back to the layout and loads Buck's
hat full of red and blue chips at one and two dollars each. "Go buy the
place clean," he says to Buck. "Do it good; don't leave a single object
of use or luxury. My instructions is sweeping, understand. And if
there's a harness booth there you order a solid gold collar for old
Jerry, heavily incrusted with jewels and his initials and mine
surrounded by a wreath. Also, send out a pint of wine for every one of
these here maids and matrons. Meantime, I shall stick here and keep an
eye on my large financial interests."

So Buck romps off on his joyous mission, singing a little ballad that
goes: "To hell with the man that works!" And Sandy moves quickly back to
the wheel.

I followed and found Cora barely surviving because she's lost nine of
her three-dollar bets while Sandy was away, leaving her only about a
hundred winner. Len was telling her to "be brave, Pettie!" and she wa