“What ain’t a dream?”

“Oh, that thing yesterday. I been half thinking it was.”

“Dream! If them stairs hadn’t broke down you’d ’a’ seen how much dream it was! I’ve had dreams enough all night⁠—with that patch-eyed Spanish devil going for me all through ’em⁠—rot him!”

“No, not rot him. Find him! Track the money!”

“Tom, we’ll never find him. A feller don’t have only one chance for such a pile⁠—and that one’s lost. I’d feel mighty shaky if I was to see him, anyway.”

“Well, so’d I; but I’d like to see him, anyway⁠—and track him out⁠—to his Number Two.”

“Number Two⁠—yes, that’s it. I been thinking ’bout that. But I can’t make nothing out of it. What do you reckon it is?”