He popped to his feet like a jumping jack, a stooped, undernourished, middle-aged man with the damnedest expression of baffled indignation on his face. I didn't even look up at him. He puffed and he blew. The shooter had come out on a five and he kept working at it until he made it-four, one.

'Shoot it all,' the welder said.

I looked up at my Okie friend. He had turned beet-red. 'He's all yours,' I said.

He muttered some words in his mouth, dribbling saliva. I began feeling better.

'Take down some,' somebody said to the shooter. 'You're holding up the game.'

'I got it,' I said, and tossed my sixteen bucks in the centre.

The shooter nursed the dice, blew on them, said, 'Now do your stuff, babies. Come out on seven.' He cocked his arm, turned them loose. They stopped trey. one.

'Liddle Joe from Kokomo,' one of the coloured fellows murmured, looking at me.

The big bald-headed welder picked them up and rubbed them on his leather pants leg. I looked at him.

'Come on,' a Texas drawl said impatiently. 'You're holding up the game.'

The shooter was getting ready to unlock 'em but now he rubbed them up some more. He gave the speaker a defiant look. Then he threw a beautiful seven.

'A lick too late,' I crowed. I picked up my thirty-two bucks, feeling good for the first time that day.

Then a little waspish, rat-mouthed cracker snatched the dice and tossed six bits in the centre. 'I shoot a nigger lick,' he said.

I didn't move. I squatted there with my eyes on the ground and couldn't look up. When I looked up it was toward one of the coloured fellows. He was looking down too, unmoving; and when he looked up it was toward me. A ripple went through the ring for just an instant; nobody moved. Then the third coloured fellow tossed six bits in the centre and the game went on. I caught several white fellows giving me furtive looks; but I kept looking at the shooter.