“I bought the bar, didn’t I?” asks Sandy.  “I can’t do no more, can I?”

“You can,” I says.  “Out in that big room is about eighteen tired maids and matrons of Red Gap’s most exclusive inner circles yawning their heads off over goods, wares, and merchandise that no one will look at while this sinful game is running.  If you got a spark of manhood in you go on out and trade a little with ’em, just to take the curse off your depredations in here.”

“Why, sure!” says Sandy.  He goes back to the layout and loads Buck’s hat full of red and blue chips at one and two dollars each.  “Go buy the place clean,” he says to Buck.  “Do it good; don’t leave a single object of use or luxury.  My instructions is sweeping, understand.  And if there’s a harness booth there you order a solid gold collar for old Jerry, heavily incrusted with jewels and his initials and mine surrounded by a wreath.  Also, send out a pint of wine for every one of these here maids and matrons.  Meantime, I shall stick here and keep an eye on my large financial interests.”

So Buck romps off on his joyous mission, singing a little ballad that goes:  “To hell with the man that works!” And Sandy moves quickly back to the wheel.

I followed and found Cora barely surviving because she’s lost nine of her three-dollar bets while Sandy was away, leaving her only about a hundred winner.  Len was telling her to “be brave, Pettie!” and she was saying it was entirely his fault that they hadn’t already got their neat little home; but she would have it before she left the place or know the reason why.

It just did seem as if them three numbers had been resting while Sandy was away talking to me.  They begin to show up again the minute he resumed his bets, and Cora was crowding onto the same with a rising temperature.  Yes, sir, it seemed downright uncanny or miraculous the way one or the other of ’em showed up, with Sandy saying it was a shame to take the money, and Cora saying it was a shame she had to bet on all three numbers and get paid only on one.

Of course others was also crowding these numbers, though not so many as you’d think, because every one said the run must be at an end, and they’d be a fool to play ’em any farther; and them that did play ’em was mostly making ten-cent bets to be on the safe side.  Only Sandy and Cora kept right on showing up one Egbert Floud as a party that had much to learn about pulling off a good bazaar.

It’s a sad tale.  Cousin Egbert had to send out twice for more cash, Cora Wales refusing to take his check on the Farmers and Merchants National for hers.  She said she was afraid there would be some catch about it.  I met Egbert out in the hall after the second time she’d made him send and he’d lost much of his sparkle.

“I never thought it was right to strike a lady without cause,” he says bitterly; “but I’d certainly hate to trust myself with that frail out in some lonely spot, like Price’s Addition, where her screams couldn’t be heard.”