Of a-sudden, Peg-laig
stops dealin', up-ends his box and turns to me with a look which
shows he's plumb dismayed. P'intin' at the check-rack, Peg-laig
says:
"'"Son, look thar!"
"'Nacherally, I looks, an' I at once realizes the roots of that
consternation of Peg-laig's. It's this: While thar's more of them
button molds in front of Peg-laig's right elbow than we embarks with
orig'nal, thar's still twenty-two hundred dollars' worth in the
hands of the Rock Island pop'lace waitin' to be cashed. However do
they do it? They goes stampedin' over to this yere storekeep an'
purchases 'em for four bits a gross. They buys that vagrant out that
a-way. They even buys new kinds on us, an' it's a party tryin' to
bet a stack of pants buttons on the high kyard that calls Peg-laig's
attention to them frauds.
"'Thar's no he'p for it, however; them villagers is stony an'
adamantine, an' so far as we has money they shorely makes us pay. We
walks out of Rock Island. About a mile free of the camp, Peg-laig
stops an' surveys me a heap mournful.
"'" Son," he says, "we was winnin', wasn't we?
"'"Which we shore was," I replies.
"'"Exactly," says Peg-laig, shakin' his head, "we was shorely
winners.
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