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Shorty Dreams | Jack London | |
Chapter VIII. |
Page 2 of 3 |
"Fortunately, this isn't a dream, Shorty." "Then if you sell out for thirty thousan', I'll never forgive you." "When I sell out for thirty thousand, you'll fall on my neck an' wake up to find out that you haven't been dreaming at all. This is no dream, Shorty. In about two minutes you'll see you have been wide awake all the time. Let me tell you that when I sell out it's because I've got to sell out." Back at the table, Smoke informed the game-owners that his offer still held. They proffered him their paper to the extent of three thousand each. "Hold out for the dust," Shorty cautioned. "I was about to intimate that I'd take the money weighed out," Smoke said. The owner of the Elkhorn cashed their paper, and Shorty took possession of the gold-dust. "Now, I don't want to wake up," he chortled, as he hefted the various sacks. "Toted up, it's a seventy thousan' dream. It's be too blamed expensive to open my eyes, roll out of the blankets, an' start breakfast." "What's your system?" Big Burke demanded. "We've paid for it, and we want it." Smoke led the way to the table. "Now, gentlemen, bear with me a moment. This isn't an ordinary system. It can scarcely be called legitimate, but its one great virtue is that it works. I've got my suspicious, but I'm not saying anything. You watch. Mr Keeper, be ready with the ball. Wait, I am going to pick '26.' Consider I've bet on it. Be ready, Mr Keeper--Now!" The ball whirled around. "You observe," Smoke went on, "that '9' was directly opposite." The ball finished in '26.' |
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