Local Color Part 8

"Twelve it is," echoed Fox.

"A dozen raw," confirmed Gash Tuttle, now thoroughly in the spirit of it.

"All right, then," said Fox, flas.h.i.+ng a beam of admiration toward the humourist. "Now turn 'em over, Flem--turn 'em over careful."

Flem obeyed, displaying an ace, a deuce and a six.

"And nine more makes twenty-one in all!" chortled Fox triumphantly.

As though dazed, the barkeeper shook his head.

"Well, Foxey, ole pardner, you sh.o.r.e got me that time," he confessed begrudgingly. "Whut'll it be, gents? Here, I reckin the cigars is on me too, after that." From a gla.s.s-topped case at the end of the bar alongside Gash Tuttle he produced a full box and extended it hospitably.

"The smokes is on the house--dip in, gents. Dip in. Try an Old Hickory; them's pure Tampas--ten cents straight."

He drew the beers--large ones for the two, a small one for himself--and raised his own gla.s.s to them.

"Here's to you and t'ward you!" he said.

"Ef I hadn't a-met you I wouldn't a-knowed you," shot back Gash Tuttle with the lightning spontaneity of one whose wit moves in boltlike brilliancy; and at that they both laughed loudly and, as though dazzled by his flashes, bestowed on him the look that is ever the sweetest tribute to the jester's talents.

The toast to a better acquaintance being quaffed and lights exchanged, the still nonplussed Flem addressed the winners:

"Well, boys, I thought I knowed all there was to know about dice--poker dice and c.r.a.p dice too; but live and learn, as the feller says. Say, Fox, put me on to that trick--it'll come in handy. I'll ketch Joe on it when he gits back," and he nodded toward the lunch counter.

"You don't need to know no more'n you know about it already," expounded Fox. "It's bound to come out that way."

"How is it bound to come out that way?"

"Why, Flem, it's jest plain arithmetic; mathematics--that's all. Always the tops and bottoms of ary three dice come to twenty-one. Here, gimme that cup and I'll prove it."

In rapid succession, three times, he shook the cubes out. It was indeed as the wizard had said. No matter what the sequence, the complete tally was ever the same--twenty-one.

"Now who'd 'a' thought it!" exclaimed Flem delightedly. "Say, a feller could win a pile of dough workin' that trick! I'd 'a' fell fur some real money myself."

"That's why I made it fur the drinks," said the magnanimous Fox. "I wouldn't put it over on a friend--not for no amount; because it's a sure-thing proposition. It jest naturally can't lose! I wouldn't 'a'

tried to skin this pardner here with it even if I'd 'a' thought I could." And once more his hand fell in flattering camaraderie on a fawn-coloured shoulder. "I know a regular guy that's likewise a wise guy as soon as I see him. But with rank strangers it'd be plumb different.

The way I look at it, a stranger's money is anybody's money----"

He broke off abruptly as the doorhinges creaked. A tall, thin individual wearing a cap, a squint and a cigarette, all on the same side of his head, had entered. He stopped at the lunch counter as though desirous of purchasing food.

"Sh-h! Listen!" Fox's subdued tones reached only the barkeeper and Mr.

Tuttle. "That feller looks like a mark to me. D'ye know him, Flem?"

"Never seen him before," whispered back Flem after a covert scrutiny of the latest arrival.

"Fine!" commented Fox, speaking with rapidity, but still with low-toned caution. "Jest to test it, let's see if that sucker'll fall. Here"--he shoved the dice cup into Gash Turtle's grasp--"you be playin' with the bones, sorter careless. You kin have the first bet, because I've already took a likin' to you. Then, if he's willin' to go a second time, I'll take him on fur a few simoleons." The arch plotter fell into an att.i.tude of elaborate indifference. "Go ahead, Flem; you toll him in."

Given a guarantee of winning, and who among us is not a born gamester?

Gash Tuttle's cheeks flushed with sporting blood as he grabbed for the cup. All his corpuscles turned to red and white chips--red ones mostly.

As for the barkeeper, he beyond doubt had the making of a born conspirator in him. He took the cue instantly.

"Sorry, friend," he called out, "but the grub works is closed down temporary. Anything I kin do fur you?"

"Well," said the stranger, edging over, "I did want a fried-aig sandwich, but I might change my mind. Got any cold lager on tap?"

"Join us," invited Fox; "we're jest fixin' to have one. Make it beer all round," he ordered the barkeeper without waiting for the newcomer's answer.

Beer all round it was. Gash Tuttle, too eager for gore to more than sip his, toyed with the dice, rolling them out and scooping them up again.

"Want to shake for the next round, anybody?" innocently inquired the squint-eyed person, observing this byplay.

"The next round's on the house," announced Flem, obeying a wink of almost audible emphasis from Fox.

"This here gent thinks he's some hand with the bones," explained Fox, addressing the stranger and flirting a thumb toward Gash Tuttle. "He was sayin' jest as you come in the door yonder that he could let anybody else roll three dice, and then he could tell, without lookin' even, whut the tops and bottoms would add up to?"

"Huh?" grunted the squinty-eyed man. "Has he got any money in his clothes that says he kin do that? Where I come frum, money talks." He eyed Gash Tuttle truculently, as though daring him to be game.

"My money talks too!" said Mr. Tuttle with nervous alacrity. He felt in an inner vest pocket, producing a modest packet of bills. All eyes were focused on it.

"That's the stuff!" said Fox with mounting enthusiasm. "How much are you two gents goin' to bet one another? Make it fur real money--that is, if you're both game!"

"If he don't touch the dice at all I'll bet him fur his whole roll,"

said the impetuous newcomer.

"That's fair enough, I reckin," said Fox. "Tell you whut--to make it absolutely fair I'll turn the dice over myself and Flem'll hold the stakes. Then there can't be no kick comin' from n.o.body whatsoever, kin there?" He faced their prospective prey. "How strong are you?" he demanded, almost sneeringly. "How much are you willin' to put up against my pardner here?"

"Any amount! Any amount!" snapped back the other, squinting past Fox at Gash Tuttle's roll until one eye was a b.u.t.ton and the other a b.u.t.tonhole. "Twenty-five--thirty--thirty-five--as much as forty dollars.

That's how game I am."

Avarice gnawed at the taproots of Gash Tuttle's being, but caution raised a warning hand. Fifteen was half of what he had and thirty was all. Besides, why risk all on the first wager, even though there was no real risk? A person so impulsively sportive as this victim would make a second bet doubtlessly. He ignored the stealthy little kick his princ.i.p.al accomplice dealt him on the s.h.i.+n. "I'll make it fur fifteen,"

he said, licking his lips.

"If that's as fur as you kin go, all right," said the slit-eyed man, promptly posting his money in the outstretched hand of the barkeeper, who in the same motion took over a like amount from the slightly trembling fingers of the challenger.

Squint-eye picked up the dice cup and rattled its occupants.

"Come on now!" he bantered Gash Tuttle. "Whut'll they add up, tops and bottoms?"

"Twenty-one!" said Mr. Tuttle.

"Out they come, then!"

And out they did come, dancing together, tumbling and somersaulting, and finally halting--a deuce, a trey and a four.

"Three and two is five and four is nine," Gash Tuttle read off the pips.

"Now turn 'em over!" he bade Fox. "That's your job--turn 'em over!" He was all tremulous and quivery inside.

In silence Fox drew the nearest die toward him and slowly capsized it.

"Four," he announced.