"I've seen better," he said, as he gathered the dice into the box, and pushed it over to the inspector; "but anythin' over four hundred takes figures to beat it."
Lipinzki's first throw was a poor one. Six, five, two threes, and a two! The second throw three aces came up together, making his score three hundred and sixty. The other was a four. He picked it up, threw, and made a three of it. He tried again, and made it a six. He was now four hundred and twenty—four behind.
"Tough luck, but I guess you've got to try again, pard."
The hand of the man was firm, though the heart of the father was shaking as the inspector turned the box over for the last time.
"An ace! By thunder, I thought so! Waal, if that ain't the luck of hell, tell me. There's your gun!"
