Jeff Peters with a ledger-smile, Andy Tucker, cool as late dusk. No blood in the bargain—only nerve, A scripted grift with a gentleman’s husk. They work the room where the weak word bends, Where luck and loquacity trade their weights; "That's right!" No melodrama, just patient craft, And a grin that arrives too late. "Too late, boys!" The Gentle Grafter— ("Oh, yeah!") soft voice, hard sleight. The Gentle Grafter— ("Uh-huh!") turns day into night. No smash, no thunder, just wit in the wire; The Gentle Grafter— ("The Grafter!") keeps the whole town wired. A county, a clerk, a scheme half-seen, A “financier” in a dust-fine coat; The joke is human, the sting is brief, And the teller saves what the trick won’t. ["Save the money!"] He laughs at the ruse and the ruse in him, At the sweet, thin mercy of appetite— Where the rogue is a poet of the practical, And the con is a gentleman’s light. [ "So bright!"] No grand reform, no moral varnish; Only the eye that weighs the game. O. Henry leaves the door half-open— [ "O. Henry..."] A wink, a sigh, a name. The Gentle Grafter— ("Sing it now!") soft voice, hard sleight. The Gentle Grafter— ("Hey, hey!") turns day into night. No smash, no thunder, just wit in the wire; The Gentle Grafter— ("That's him!") keeps the whole town wired. Jeff and Andy, dusk on the move— smiling through the honest groove. ["Yeah..."]
