He’s known in these precincts as Big Dan Teague, or, to those who're pressed for time, Big Dan toot court. Endowed with the gift of gab (one thing you don’t want is air in the conversation), he’ll be sizing you up. Cover his tab so he doesn’t have to run up to his room, and have the waitress wrap your dinner picnic-style, so you can retire to more private environs…
“Don’t forget your shoebox, friend.” Being a man of large appetite (and even with lunch under his belt, still feeling a mite peckish), he’ll thank you for throwing in the fricassee. And grateful for the conversational hiatus, as he generally refrains from speech while engaged in gustation. “There are those who attempt both at the same time but I find it course and vulgar.” Glad to give you a lesson in psychology (so to speak) in the form of an advanced tutorial, he reaches for a large tree limb.
Puzzled, you ask, “What’s going on Big Dan?” “It's all about money, boys! Atsy answer! Dough re mi!” He reaches to take your 'show cards' and whatever you got in the hole. “What the… don’t you know those things can give you warts?” Brushing off his hands he walks back to his car, leaving our stunned adventurers sprawled out. “End of lesson. Hee hee! See ya’ in the funny papers!” Something tells me we haven’t seen the last of Big Dan Teague.