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 He picked out a handful and tossed them on the table. "Have some. How much, son?"

"Two dollars and eighty cents, sir. I'll bring a check."

"All right. Ain't anything more we got to eat, is there. Wade? 'Cause I certainly am feelin' kind o' discouraged."

"No, I guess we've done our duty, Dave. I suppose you'll want to go to the theatre, won't you?"

"Anything better in sight?"

"No, not unless you'd rather try opera," answered Wade with a smile.

"Opera? You mean grand opera that you read about? I never been to one of them. How are they, pretty—" Dave waved his cigar—"pretty tony?"

"About the limit on style, Dave."

"Well, there aint nothin' I ain't ready to go up against! Lead me to it! I'm feelin' sort o' rich and dizzy, boy, and I reckon I want the best there is."

Wade took up the evening paper and glanced over the amusement column.