There was mighty little, let me tell you.  I said in the beginning that twenty-five thousand dollars was like a wildcat in Casey’s pocket.  You can’t give a man that much money all in a lump and suddenly, after he has been content with dollars enough to pay for the food he eats, without seeing him lose his sense of proportion.  Twenty-five dollars he understands and can spend more prudently than you, perhaps.  Twenty-five thousand he simply cannot gauge.  It seems exhaustless.  It is as if you plucked from the night all the stars you can see, knowing that the Milky Way is still there and unnumbered other stars invisible, even in the aggregate.

Casey played poker with an appreciative audience and the lid off.  Now and then he took a drink stronger than root beer.  He kept that up for a night and a day and well into another night.  Very well, gather round and look at the remains, and if there’s a moral, you are welcome, I am sure.

Casey awoke just before noon, and went out and held his head under Bill’s garage hydrant, with the water running full stream.  He looked up and found Bill standing there with his hands in his pockets, gazing at Casey sorrowfully.  Casey grinned.  You can’t down the Irish for very long.

“How’s she comin’, Bill?”

Bill grunted and spat.  “She ain’t.  Not if you mean that car them folks wished on to you.  Well, the tail light’s pretty fair, too.  And in their hurry the lady went off and left a pink silk stockin’ in the back seat.  The toe’s out of it though.  Casey, if you wait till you overhaul ’em with that thing they wheeled in here under the name of a car—­”

“Oh, that’s all right, Bill,” Casey grunted gamely.  “I was goin’ to git me a new car, anyway.  Mine wasn’t so much.  They’re welcome.”

Bill grunted and spat again, but he did not say anything.

“I’ll go see Dwyer and see how much I got left,” Casey said presently, and his voice, whether you believe it or not, was cheerful.  “I’m going to ketch that evenin’ train to Los.”  And he added kindly, “C’m on and eat with me, Bill.  I’m hungry.”

Bill shook his head and gave another grunt, and Casey went off without him.

After awhile Casey returned.  He was grinning, but the grin was, to a careful observer, a bit sickish.  “Say, Bill, talk about poker—­I’m off it fer life.  Now look what it done to me, Bill!  I puts twenty-five thousand dollars into the bank—­minus two hundred I took in money—­and I takes a check book, and I goes over to The Club and gits into a game.  I wears the check book down to the stubs.  I goes back and asks Dwyer how much I got in the bank, and he looks me over like I was a sick horse he had doubts about being worth doctorin’, and as if he thought he mebby might better take me out an’ shoot me an’ put me outa my misery.

“‘Jest one dollar an’ sixty-seven cents, Casey,’ he says to me, ’if the checks is all in, which I trust they air!’” Casey got out his plug of chewing tobacco and pried off a blunted corner.  “An’ hell Bill!  I had that much in the bank when I started,” he finished plaintively.