Bud straightened his drooping shoulders and scooped the money into his
hand. He laughed recklessly, and got up. "We'll try her another whirl,
and see if luck'll bring luck. Come on--let's go hunt up some of them
marks that got all the dough last night. We'll split, fifty-fifty, and
the same with what we win. Huh?"
"You're on, ho--let's go." Bud had gauged him correctly--Frank would
follow any one who would lead. He got up and came to the table where Bud
was dividing the money into two equal sums, as nearly as he could make
change. What was left over--and that was the three dollars and twenty
cents--he tossed into the can of tobacco on a shelf.
"We'll let that ride--to sober up on, if we go broke," he grunted. "Come
on--let's get action."
Action, of a sort, they proceeded to get. Luck brought luck of the same
complexion. They won in fluctuating spells of good cards and judicious
teamwork. They did not cheat, though Frank was ready if Bud had led him
that way. Frank was ready for anything that Bud suggested. He drank when
Bud drank, went from the first saloon to the one farther down and
across the street, returned to the first with cheerful alacrity and much
meaningless laughter when Bud signified a desire to change. It soothed
Bud and irritated him by turns, this ready acquiescence of Frank's. He
began to take a malicious delight in testing that acquiescence. He began
to try whether he could not find the end of Frank's endurance in staying
awake, his capacity for drink, his good nature, his credulity--he ran
the scale of Frank's various qualifications, seeking always to establish
a well-defined limitation somewhere.
But Frank was utterly, absolutely plastic. He laughed and drank when Bud
suggested that they drink. He laughed and played whatever game Bud urged
him into. He laughed and agreed with Bud when Bud made statements to
test the credulity of anyman. He laughed and said, "Sure. Let's go!" when
Bud pined for a change of scene.
On the third day Bud suddenly stopped in the midst of a game of pool
which neither was steady enough to play, and gravely inspected the
chalked end of his cue.
"That's about enough of this," he said. "We're drunk. We're so drunk we
don't know a pocket from a prospect hole. I'm tired of being a hog. I'm
going to go get another drink and sober up. And if you're the dog Fido
you've been so far, you'll do the same." He leaned heavily upon the
table, and regarded Frank with stern, bloodshot blue eyes.
Frank laughed and slid his cue the length of the table. He also leaned a
bit heavily. "Sure," he said. "I'm ready, any time you are."
"Some of these days," Bud stated with drunken deliberation, "they'll
take and hang you, Frank, for being such an agreeable cuss." He took
Frank gravely by the arm and walked him to the bar, paid for two beers
with almost his last dollar, and, still holding Frank firmly, walked him
out of doors and down the street to Frank's cabin. He pushed him inside
and stood looking in upon him with a sour appraisement.