"Put your money away," said Perkins. "Don't be a fool!" Cottle laughed uproariously and slapped the Ooley-cow on the back. "Good old Wes!" he cried. "Ain't changed a bit. Conservative! Always conservative! Got rich at it, but me I got rich taking chances. What's a little wad of bills to me, hey? Nothing but chicken-feed! I'll bet any part of this roll--I'll bet _all_ of it--and I'll play these sun-dried old sports with one hand. Now's the time to show whether they've got any sporting blood or not. What do you say, gentlemen?" Uncle Billy looked at the money and moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. "Couldn't think of it," he croaked at length. "Pshaw!" sneered Cottle. "I showed you too much--I scared you!" "He ain't scared," put in Old Man Sprott. "It would be too much like stealing it." "I'm the one to worry about that," announced Cottle. "It's my money, ain't it? I made it, didn't I? And I can do what I damn please with it--spend it, bet it, burn it up, throw it away. When you've worried about everything else in the world it'll be time for you to begin worrying about young Mr. Cottle's money! This slim little roll--bah! Chicken-feed! Come get it if you want it!" He tossed the money on the table with a gesture which was an insult in itself. "There it is--cover it! Put up or shut up!" "Oh, forget it!" said the Ooley-cow wearily. "Come in and have a bite to eat and forget it!" "Don't want anything to eat!" was the stubborn response. "Seldom eat in the middle of the day. But I'll have 'nother mint toddy.... Wait a second, Wes. Don't be in such a rush. Lemme understand this thing. These--these gentlemen here, these two friends of yours, these dead-game old Native Sons have got eighty dollars of my money--not that it makes any difference to me, understand, but they've got it--eighty dollars that they won from me playing golf. Now I may have a drink or two in me and I may not, understand, but anyhow I know what I'm about. I make these--gentlemen a sporting proposition. I give 'em a chance to pick up a couple of hundred apiece, and they want to run out on me because it'll be like stealing it. What kind of a deal is that, hey? Is it sportsmanship? Is it what they call giving a man a chance? Is it----" "But they know you wouldn't have a chance," interrupted the Ooley-cow soothingly. "They don't want a sure thing." "They've had one so far, haven't they?" howled Cottle. "What are they scared of now? 'Fraid I'll squeal if I lose? Tell 'em about me, Wes. Tell 'em I never squealed in my life! I win if I can, but if I can't--'s all right. No kick coming. There never was a piker in the Cottle family, was there, Wes? No, you bet not! We're sports, every one of us. Takes more than one slim little roll to send us up a tree! If there's anything that makes me sick, it's a cold-footed, penny-pinching, nickel-nursing, sure-thing player!"