A CORNER IN AMALGAMATED DOG
"‘When—when is the event to be pulled off, Bug?' I choked.
"He paused in making the high sign of despair, and muttered, 'Dam to-morrow.'
"‘Quit that profanity, or I'll hammer ye,' cried Tib. Then, more gently, 'Why do they wait till to-morrow. Dusky One?'
"With a wealth of incoherence the Bug explained the Caripunas, like almost all aborigines and Wall Street denizens, were great gamblers, and were now shaking a few dice, or cutting the book, or tossing pennies, to decide into what family we were to be adopted.
"‘I'll never shake for the cigars again, Tib,' I moaned. 'I know just how the cigar feels.'
"‘Quiet, child,' he returned, 'I'm thinking. Gamblers, eh? Streaked all through their blood, eh?'
"Then, with face illumined, he cried, 'Billy, what does this remind you of?' and he shook the small, empty cage aloft.
"‘Nothing,' says I.
"‘Then you are unworthy to be my follower and to be eaten in good company,' he chided.
"I had no heart for this strain of talk and glided into a reverie without replying, and was only dimly conscious that the old chap was mildly cursing Wogo, who was at the entrance of the hut trying to talk in hybrid Spanish to the Nestor of our captors,
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