She was not a woman to be trifled
with then. She took another lemonade because it was free, and made Len
take one that he didn't want. Then she draws three dollars from him and
covers the three numbers with reckless and noble sweeps of her powerful
arms. The game was on again.
Cousin Egbert by now was looking slightly disturbed, or _outre_, as the
French put it, but tries to conceal same under an air of sparkling
gayety, laughing freely at every little thing in a girlish or painful
manner.
"Yes," says he coquettishly; "that Sandy scoundrel is taking it fast out
of one pocket, but he's putting it right back into the other. The
wheel's loss is the bar's gain."
I looked over to size Sandy's chips and I could see four or five markers
that go a hundred apiece.
"I admire your roguish manner that don't fool any one," I says; "but if
we was to drink the half of Sandy's winnings, even at your robber
prices, we'd all be submerged to the periscope. It looks to me," I goes
on, "like the bazaar-robbing genius is not exclusively a male attribute
or tendency."
"How many of them knitted crawdabs you sold out there at your booths?"
he demands.
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