"'What?' growls 'Single Out;' 'I knowed this game before you quit
nursin', Bright Eyes. I can protect my own bets.'

"'That's right,' chimes the dealer, who I seen was 'Curly' Budd,
Wilmer's pardner.

"'Lord!' thinks I, 'there's a pair to draw to.'

"'Do you really think you had ought to play this? It's a man's
game,' says Wilmer nasty.

"I expected to see the youngster dog it. Nothin' of the kind.

"'That's my bet!' he says again, and I noticed something dry in his
voice, like the rustle of silk.

"Single Out just looks black and snarls at the dealer.

"'Turn the cards!'

"'Oh, very well,' says the chechako, talking like a little girl.

"Somebody snickered and, thinks I 'there's sprightly doin's
hereabouts. I'll tarry a while and see 'em singe the fowl. I like
the smell of burning pin feathers; it clears my head.'

"Over in the far corner was another animal in knee panties, riggin'
up one of these flash-light, snappy-shot, photograft layouts. I
found afterwards that he done it for a living; didn't work none, just
strayed around as co-respondent for an English newspaper syndicate,