“Yes, so it seems,” mused Grand, without looking up, continuing to study the ticket in his hand. “How much will you eat it for?” he asked then, raising a piercing smile at the man. “How’s that, mister?” demanded the latter with a nasty frown, pushing himself forward a bit from the building. Grand cleared his throat and slowly took out his wallet—a long slender wallet of such fine leather it would have been limp as silk, had it not been so chock-full of thousands. “I asked what would you take to eat it? You know....” Wide-eyed, he made a great chewing motion with his mouth, holding the ticket up near it. The man, glaring, took a tentative step forward. “Say, I don’t get you, mister!” “Well,” drawled Grand, chuckling down at his fat wallet, browsing about in it, “simple enough really....” And he took out a few thousand. “I have this ticket, as you know, and I was just wondering if you would care to eat it, for, say”—a quick glance to ascertain—“six thousand dollars?” “What do you mean, ‘eat it’?” demanded the dark-suited man in a kind of a snarl. “Say, what’re you anyway, bub, a wise-guy?” “‘Wise-guy’ or ‘grand guy’—call me anything you like ... as long as you don’t call me ‘late-for-chow!’13 Eh? Ho-ho.” Grand rounded it off with a jolly chortle, but was quick to add, unsmiling, “How ’bout it, pal—got a taste for the easy green?” 13 The man, who now appeared to be openly angry, took another step forward. “Listen, mister ...” he began in a threatening tone, half clenching his fists. “I think I should warn you,” said Grand quietly, raising one hand to his breast, “that I am armed.” “Huh?” The man seemed momentarily dumfounded, staring down in dull rage at the six bills in Grand’s hand; then he partially recovered, and cocking his head to one side, regarded Grand narrowly, in an attempt at shrewd skepticism, still heavily flavored with indignation. “Just who do you think you are, Mister! Just what is your game?” “Grand’s the name, easy-green’s the game,” said Guy with a twinkle. “Play along?” He
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