On the ninth night, when Shorty had carried the dust home, he had a fit.  “I quit, Smoke, I quit,” he began.  “I know when I got enough.  I ain’t dreamin’.  I’m wide awake.  A system can’t be, but you got one just the same.  There’s nothin’ in the rule o’ three.  The almanac’s clean out.  The world’s gone smash.  There’s nothin’ regular an’ uniform no more.  The multiplication table’s gone loco.  Two is eight, nine is eleven, and two-times-six is eight hundred an’ forty-six—­an’—­an’ a half.  Anything is everything, an’ nothing’s all, an’ twice all is cold-cream, milk-shakes, an’ calico horses.  You’ve got a system.  Figgers beat the figgerin’.  What ain’t is, an’ what isn’t has to be.  The sun rises in the west, the moon’s a pay-streak, the stars is canned corn-beef, scurvy’s the blessin’ of God, him that dies kicks again, rocks floats, water’s gas, I ain’t me, you’re somebody else, an’ mebbe we’re twins if we ain’t hashed-brown potatoes fried in verdigris.  Wake me up!  Somebody!  Oh!  Wake me up!”

The next morning a visitor came to the cabin.  Smoke knew him, Harvey Moran, the owner of all the games in the Tivoli.  There was a note of appeal in his deep gruff voice as he plunged into his business.

“It’s like this, Smoke,” he began.  “You’ve got us all guessing.  I’m representing nine other game-owners and myself from all the saloons in town.  We don’t understand.  We know that no system ever worked against roulette.  All the mathematic sharps in the colleges have told us gamblers the same thing.  They say that roulette itself is the system, the one and only system, and, therefore, that no system can beat it, for that would mean arithmetic has gone bug-house.”

Shorty nodded his head violently.

“If a system can beat a system, then there’s no such thing as system,” the gambler went on.  “In such a case anything could be possible—­a thing could be in two different places at once, or two things could be in the same place that’s only large enough for one at the same time.”

“Well, you’ve seen me play,” Smoke answered defiantly; “and if you think it’s only a string of luck on my part, why worry?”

“That’s the trouble.  We can’t help worrying.  It’s a system you’ve got, and all the time we know it can’t be.  I’ve watched you five nights now, and all I can make out is that you favour certain numbers and keep on winning.  Now the ten of us game-owners have got together, and we want to make a friendly proposition.  We’ll put a roulette-table in a back room of the Elkhorn, pool the bank against you, and have you buck us.  It will be all quiet and private.  Just you and Shorty and us.  What do you say?”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Smoke answered.  “It’s up to you to come and see me.  I’ll be playing in the barroom of the Elkhorn to-night.  You can watch me there just as well.”

That night, when Smoke took up his customary place at the table, the keeper shut down the game.  “The game’s closed,” he said.  “Boss’s orders.”