"Any amount, old man," said the proprietor nonchalantly, and taking four dollars from the cash register he left the drawer open. "How do you want to be skinned?" "First-flop poker dice," said Tommy, picking up the leather box which Joe had slammed upon the board, and rattling the five dice in it. One turn apiece and the proprietor picked up the money. Tommy silently threw a five on the case. "You other fellows want in on this?" he asked. J. Rufus suddenly felt that mysterious thing called a "hunch" prickling in his wrist. "How about letting a stranger in?" he observed, considering himself far enough west for this forwardness. With a smile he made ready for that lightning glance of judgment which he knew would be leveled at him from three pairs of eyes at least. "I'd rather anybody would have my money than Joe," said the man next to him, after that brief but pleased inspection and after an almost imperceptible nod from the proprietor. "Joe's a robber and we none of us like him." "I don't think I like him very well myself," laughed Wallingford, throwing down his money, and, having accepted him, they judged him again from this new angle. He was a most likeable man, this big fellow, and an open-handed sport. Anybody could see that. It would make no difference to him whether he won or lost. All he wanted was to be in on the game. Rich as the mint, no doubt. In reality J. Rufus had but three five dollar bills in his pocket, but desperate needs require desperate remedies, and, in view of those vast needs, if he lost he would be but little worse off than he was now. Twice he staked his last five, and then luck steadily alternated between him and the proprietor. One at a time the three others dropped out, and the two winners were left confronting each other. "Well, old man," said the proprietor to Wallingford, shaking the box up and down while he talked, and smiling his challenge, "we split 'em about even. Shall we quit satisfied, or shoot it off to see who owns the best rabbit's foot?" Wallingford glanced down at the crumpled pile of greenbacks in front of him and made a hasty computation. He was sure that he had fully two hundred dollars, but he could not in decency quit now. "I never saw a finer afternoon for a murder in my life," he declared. "Shoot you fifty," said Joe. In for it, Wallingford covered the bet, and by this time a throng of interested spectators was at his elbows. It was Wallingford's first throw, and four aces tumbled up. His opponent followed him with fours, but they were four sixes. "Cover the hundred and be a real sport," advised Wallingford with a grin. Joe counted the money in front of him. There was enough to cover the bet, with a ten-dollar bill left over. He threw down the pile. "I'll press it ten," said he, and Wallingford promptly added a ten from his own stack. Four aces again. Again the man who was called Joe threw four sixes.