“Now’s the time to jump the game,” Shorty advised, as he sat on the edge of his bunk and took off his moccasins.  “You’re seven thousan’ ahead.  A man’s a fool that’d crowd his luck harder.”

“Shorty, a man would be a blithering lunatic if he didn’t keep on backing a winning system like mine.”

“Smoke, you’re a sure bright boy.  You’re college-learnt.  You know more’n a minute than I could know in forty thousan’ years.  But just the same you’re dead wrong when you call your luck a system.  I’ve been around some, an’ seen a few, an’ I tell you straight an’ confidential an’ all-assurin’, a system to beat a bankin’ game ain’t possible.”

“But I’m showing you this one.  It’s a pipe.”

“No, you’re not, Smoke.  It’s a pipe-dream.  I’m asleep.  Bimeby I’ll wake up, an’ build the fire, an’ start breakfast.”

“Well, my unbelieving friend, there’s the dust.  Heft it.”

So saying, Smoke tossed the bulging gold-sack upon his partner’s knees.  It weighed thirty-five pounds, and Shorty was fully aware of the crush of its impact on his flesh.

“It’s real,” Smoke hammered his point home.

“Huh!  I’ve saw some mighty real dreams in my time.  In a dream all things is possible.  In real life a system ain’t possible.  Now, I ain’t never been to college, but I’m plum justified in sizin’ up this gamblin’ orgy of ourn as a sure-enough dream.”

“Hamilton’s ‘Law of Parsimony,’” Smoke laughed.

“I ain’t never heard of the geezer, but his dope’s sure right.  I’m dreamin’, Smoke, an’ you’re just snoopin’ around in my dream an’ tormentin’ me with system.  If you love me, if you sure do love me, you’ll just yell, ‘Shorty!  Wake up!’ An’ I’ll wake up an’ start breakfast.”

The third night of play, as Smoke laid his first bet, the game-keeper shoved fifteen dollars back to him.

“Ten’s all you can play,” he said.  “The limit’s come down.”

“Gettin’ picayune,” Shorty sneered.

“No one has to play at this table that don’t want to,” the keeper retorted.  “And I’m willing to say straight out in meeting that we’d sooner your pardner didn’t play at our table.”

“Scared of his system, eh?” Shorty challenged, as the keeper paid over three hundred and fifty dollars.

“I ain’t saying I believe in system, because I don’t.  There never was a system that’d beat roulette or any percentage game.  But just the same I’ve seen some queer strings of luck, and I ain’t going to let this bank go bust if I can help it.”

“Cold feet.”

“Gambling is just as much business, my friend, as any other business.  We ain’t philanthropists.”

Night by night, Smoke continued to win.  His method of play varied.  Expert after expert, in the jam about the table, scribbled down his bets and numbers in vain attempts to work out his system.  They complained of their inability to get a clew to start with, and swore that it was pure luck, though the most colossal streak of it they had ever seen.