Thar's the whole
groosome myst'ry laid b'ar; them pups merely smells things they
can't locate, an' it frets 'em.'
"'None the less,' remarks Cherokee Hall, 'while I reckons Enright
gives us the c'rrect line on dogs that gets audible that a-way, an'
onravels them howls in all their meanin's, I confesses I'm a heap
like Boggs about signs. Mebby, as I says prior, it's because I'm a
kyard sharp an' allers faces my footure over a faro layout. Anyhow,
signs an' omens presses on me. For one thing, I'm sooperstitious
about makin' of onyoosal arrangements to protect my play. I never
yet tries to cinch a play, an' never notes anybody else try, but we-
all quits loser. It ain't no use. Every gent, from his cradle to his
coffin, has got to take a gambler's chance. Life is like stud-poker;
an' Destiny's got an ace buried every time. It either out-lucks you
or out-plays you whenever it's so inclined; an' it seems allers so
inclined, Destiny does, jest as you're flatterin' yourse'f you've
got a shore thing. A gent's bound to play fa'r with Destiny; he can
put a bet down on that. You can't hold six kyards; you can't deal
double; you can't play no cold hands; you can't bluff Destiny. All
you-all can do is humbly an' meekly pick up the five kyards that
belongs to you, an' in a sperit of thankfulness an' praise, an'
frankly admittin' that you're lucky to be allowed to play at all, do
your lowly best tharwith.
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