Two Gringoes
were gambling for bad eggs.
Pete won for a while. Then he began to lose. "They're ripe all right.
I can tell by the color. Plumb ready to bust. The Cholas sabe that.
Watch 'em grin. They 're waitin' for one of us to bust a egg. That'll
be a big joke, and they'll 'most die a-laughin'--'cause it's a
joke--and 'cause we're Gringoes."
"Then here's where I bust one," said Brevoort. "Get a couple in your
hand. Act like you was chokin' to death. I'll laugh. Then I'll kind
of get the smell of that lame egg and stand up quick. Ready?"
"Shoot," said Pete.
Brevoort tossed an egg on the pile. Several of the eggs broke with a
faint "plop." Pete wrinkled his nose, and his face expressed such
utter astonishment, disgust, even horror, as the full significance of
the age of those eggs ascended to him, that he did not need to act his
part. He got to his feet and backed away from those eggs, even as
Brevoort rose slowly, as though just aware that the eggs were not
altogether innocent. The two Mexicans had risen to their knees and
rocked back and forth, laughing at the beautiful joke on the Gringoes.
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