I'm plumb sore at myself.

By cripes, I need kickin'!" "You'll get it, chances are," Pink assured him grimly.
Luck was in the living room, sitting at a table on which were scattered many papers Scribbled with figures.

He had a cigarette in his lips, his hat on the back of his head and a twinkle in his eyes.

He looked up and grinned as they came reluctantly into the room.
"Time's money from now on, so this is going to be cut short as possible," he began with his usual dynamic energy showing in his tone and in the movements of his hands as he gathered up the papers and evened their edges on the table top.

"You fellows know how much you put into the game when we started out to come here and produce The Phantom Herd, don't you?
If you don't, I've got the figures here.