“What’s doing?” asked Thacker.
“Nothing much,” said the Kid calmly. “I eat my first iguana steak to-day. They’re them big lizards, you /sabe/? I reckon, though, that frijoles and side bacon would do me about as well. Do you care for iguanas, Thacker?”
“No, nor for some other kinds of reptiles,” said Thacker.
It was three in the afternoon, and in another hour he would be in his state of beatitude.
“It’s time you were making good, sonny,” he went on, with an ugly look on his reddened face. “You’re not playing up to me square. You’ve been the prodigal son for four weeks now, and you could have had veal for every meal on a gold dish if you’d wanted it. Now, Mr. Kid, do you think its right to leave me out so long on a husk diet? What’s the trouble? Don’t you get your filial eyes on anything that looks like cash in the Casa Blanca? Don’t tell me you don’t. Everybody knows where old Unique keeps his stuff. Its U.S. currency, too; he doesn’t accept anything else. What’s doing? Don’t say ‘nothing’ this time.”