"I don't understand you, mister," said the green one. "I'm not lookin'
for any circus. I've just run down from Ulster County to look at the
town, bein' that the hayin's over with. Gosh! but it's a whopper. I
thought Poughkeepsie was some punkins; but this here town is five times
as big."

"Oh, well," said "Bunco Harry," raising his eyebrows, "I didn't mean
to butt in. You don't have to tell. I thought you ought to tone down
a little, so I tried to put you wise. Wish you success at your graft,
whatever it is. Come and have a drink, anyhow."

"I wouldn't mind having a glass of lager beer," acknowledged the other.

They went to a cafe frequented by men with smooth faces and shifty eyes,
and sat at their drinks.

"I'm glad I come across you, mister," said Haylocks. "How'd you like to
play a game or two of seven-up? I've got the keerds."

He fished them out of Noah's valise--a rare, inimitable deck, greasy
with bacon suppers and grimy with the soil of cornfields.

"Bunco Harry" laughed loud and briefly.

"Not for me, sport," he said, firmly. "I don't go against that make-up
of yours for a cent. But I still say you've overdone it. The Reubs
haven't dressed like that since '79. I doubt if you could work Brooklyn
for a key-winding watch with that layout."