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 screws on him, and he’s got to put up—why, it don’t strike me as being a man’s game. They’ve got a name for it, you know; it’s—confound you, don’t you understand. A fellow feels—it’s something like that blamed art of yours—he—well, I tore that photograph up and laid the pieces on that stack of money and shoved the whole business back across the table. “Excuse me, Mr. Losada,” I said, “but I guess I’ve made a mistake in the price. You get the photo for nothing.” Now, Carry, you get out the pencil, and we’ll do some more figuring. I’d like to save enough out of our capital for you to have some fried sausages in your joint when you get back to New York.”