Grinder, Hump!

BRODIE. Treys! Death and the pit! How much have you got there?

RIVERS. A cool forty-five.

BRODIE. I play you thrice the lot.

RIVERS. Who's afraid?

SMITH. Stand by, Badger!

RIVERS. Cinq-ace.

BRODIE. My turn now. (HE JUGGLES IN AND USES THE SECOND PAIR OF
DICE.) Aces! Aces again! What's this? (PICKING UP DICE.)
Sold! . . . You play false, you hound!

RIVERS. You lie!

BRODIE. In your teeth. (OVERTURNS TABLE, AND GOES FOR HIM.)

MOORE. Here, none o' that. (THEY HOLD HIM BACK. STRUGGLE.)

SMITH. Hold on, Deacon!

BRODIE. Let me go. Hands off, I say! I'll not touch him.
(STANDS WEIGHING DICE IN HIS HAND.) But as for that thieving
whinger, Ainslie, I'll cut his throat between this dark and
to-morrow's. To the bone. (ADDRESSING THE COMPANY.) Rogues,