polled more votes than Lockwin. The notion has taken hold of Corkey
that, by some hook or crook, Lockwin will get out and Corkey will get
in.

When he thinks of this, Corkey rises and walks about his chair, sitting
down again.

This is a gambler's habit.

There follows this incantation an incident which flatters his ambition.
Having changed his tobacco from the right to the left side of his
mouth, he strangles badly. It takes him just five minutes to get a
free breath. This is always a good sign. Thereupon the darkest of
negro lads, with six fingers, a lick, left-handed and cross-eyed,
enters the barroom of the hotel.

"Here!" cries Corkey. "What's your name?" The boy stammers in his
speech.

"N-n-n-noah!" he replies.

"Why not?" inquires Corkey. "You bet your sweet life you tell me what
your name is!"

"N-n-n-noah!"

"Why not? Tell me that!"

"M-m-my name is N-n-noah!" exclaims the boy.