ets it lay. Shoots fo'ty. Fo'ty ways. Shower down, Honey Tone. Mah
luck builds homes fo' de ignorant poor. I's got de musk smell. Bam!
Land, little Dove ob Peace. Land wid yo' bill full ob greens. An' I
reads fo' tray!"

The Wildcat gathered in his winnings. He laid a twenty-dollar bill on
the green table. "Fade me is you frantic."

Honey Tone covered the bet.

"Gallopers, pay de rent. Wham! Morning, rainbow. Wah just begun. Dove
ob Peace got one hot end, like a hornet. Gallopers, see kin yo' uplift
de Honey Tone Jack."

The dice raced on their victorious way.

Twenty minutes later Honey Tone Boone picked up the cubes. The capital
in his leather pocket book had dwindled to a pair of weak-looking
dollar bills. He reached into his pocket, and his hand came forth
clutching a rubber-banded cylinder of currency whose external unit was
a yellow obligation wherein the United States Government promised to
pay the bearer fifty dollars in gold coin, providing the Democrats
overlooked that much.

Honey Tone voiced his challenge.

"Shoots a hund'ed dollahs. De big coin keeps de pikers out."

The Wildcat batted his eyes, but rallied nobly and covered Honey Tone's
bet with five twenties. "Roll 'em," he said huskily.

Honey Tone, rolling 'em, neglected to advertise the fact that when he
reached for his new stake he had switched the dice.

"Seven. Shoots two hund'ed."

"Talk to 'em, Honey Tone." One of the uplifter's admirers offered
verbal encouragement.

"Dey does de talkin'. Shower down, Wildcat. Shoots two hund'ed."

The Wildcat hesitated.

"Shower down," Honey Tone repeated. "You craves action. Git in de
collar. Don't stan' theh poisoned on one foot, like de iron lady in de
park."

The Wildcat glanced about him. He saw several pairs of heavy lips
curling in the bow of derision. He counted out a handful of greenbacks.
"'At's two hund'ed," he said heavily. "Roll 'em." His neck itched. He
sensed the impact of the axe. "How come I crazy?"

The rolling dice halted. The class in addition announced that four and
three made seven.

"I mows de lettuce." Honey Tone picked up his winnings. "Shoots a
hund'ed."

The Wildcat audited his capital. "Sixty's all I got."

"Shoots sixty."

The Wildcat took a deep breath and held on to it until he read on the
clicking cubes the final message of disaster.

"Whuf! 'At's me." Honey Tone looked at his victim, and in the glance of
triumph glowed the dull fire of accomplished re