_POKER AND PREACHING._
A night or two after "Sam's souse," as the staff called it, four of the
boys came back to the office and found Evan working, as usual, on the
cash-book.
"Still at it?" asked Levison, the paying teller.
"Just struck a balance," replied Nelson.
"Good," said the teller, "we want another man to take a hand in poker.
Come up when you're through."
"I don't know how to play," said Evan.
"You'll soon learn."
"I don't think I want to learn."
Sid grinned and Brower, the ledgerman, called:
"Aw, Nelsy, be a sport; we need some of this outside money."
The boys laughed in chorus and trooped through the office in the
direction of the back stairway. There were rooms for juniors above the
bank, and one of these was the party's destination.
"We'll look for you, kid," whispered Marks in passing the cash-book
desk.
Nelson did not reply. He did not like to refuse the boys; besides, he
was curious to know just how they acted in a game of poker, and he
wanted a little cheap diversion. When his cash-book was ruled up for
the following day he locked the vault, and saying to himself that he
would just have a look-in for sociability's sake, went upstairs.
The four players were seated at a round table on which were five heaps
of matches, one in the centre of the table and one at the elbow of each
man. Evan sneaked in quietly and had learned something about poker
before he was noticed. Several mysteries, including that attaching to
the name "pot," had been solved in his mind before Levison felt the
presence of an intruder and turned around with:
"Hello, Nelsy, come right in. Did you bring a little of that outside
money?"
Evan smiled.
"I don't even know how to spell money," he said.
"All the more reason why you should take a hand," chimed in Brower. "I
was broke the night before last, and now I've got three dollars and
seventy-five cents, and am specializing in velvet."
"What's velvet?" asked Evan.
"This here," said three of the boys together, indicating reserve heaps
of matches.
"And how much does each match stand for?" continued Nelson.
"We're playing penny," answered Levison, "with a nickel limit. That
means fairly small losses for each man and a pretty good clean-up for
the winner, with five playing."
"Have you been only two nights making three dollars and six bits?" Evan
asked Brower.
"Yes," was the reply, "that's more than I can make in two days in the
bank."
"Of course," observed Marks, "when you get a bean for a day's work you
make it out of the bank, but this night-pay comes out of us. A slight
difference, to use the words of a--"
"Come on," interrupted Brower, "ante and get the game a-going again."
"Sure," said Levison, turning away from the cash-book man.
Evan was coaxed no further, but stayed behind the boys and watched
their plays. By and by he asked the teller about certain cards.
"Just a minute and I'll show you," said Sid. "Raise you five--pay
me--ace high!"
"By Jupiter," grumbled Marks, "my heap looks like the Farmers Bank
clearing."
"See," smiled the teller, while the others enjoyed Marks' ill-luck
rather than his joke, "I made enough that time to retrieve half an
hour's losses."
Evan looked across at the C man.
"How about Marks, though?" he asked, half-seriously.
"Don't worry about muh," cried Marks, "I see a 'straight' coming this
time."
The C man laughed so hard and colored so quickly on seeing his hand
that the other boys gaped at him and played carefully. He finally
bluffed them out with a pair.
In the laughter and uproar that followed, Evan was studious. He had
seen through the play, of course; but the excitement rather than the
humor of it appealed to him. Here, he said within himself, was
entertainment, company and economy combined. None of the boys were
losing much, could lose much, and the pleasure they took out of it was
surprising. Still, Evan was not fond of the idea of taking the
smallest sum from his companions. He knew how hard they worked for it.
"Well, what about it?" asked the teller, suddenly, looking up at Nelson.
"I'm afraid I'd clean up on you fellows if I started," said Evan. "I
think I'd be tempted to hand back my winnings at the end of each game."
Marks laughed and the others smiled.
"Don't consider us," said Brower, "if you want to play and pay for the
fun you get, go to it; that's all we're in it for--just the sport."
"But it's gambling," protested Evan.
"So is going to the Island," observed Levison. "Maybe you'll have a
good time and maybe you won't, but you pay your money just the same."
The sophisticated argument amused Evan, and helped him believe the boys
were in their moderate little game only for amusement, cheap amusement.
They could not afford to take girls out often or even go out alone, so
they had invented an economic substitute for out-door pleasure. They
were trying to take him in with them in their penny-saving pursuit and
he wondered if their company were not worth the mental effort it cost
him to surrender certain ideas about playing cards for money. In this
state of mind he watched the game proceed.
For half an hour longer he stood behind their chairs, studying hands
and trying to figure out the percentage of chance against each man. At
the end of the time he was surprised to see all their reserves just
about even, as they had been at first. Levison saw him intent upon the
game.
"You see, Nelsy," he said, expectorating the stub of a cigar, "it's
fair to every man. Occasionally somebody has a run of luck, like
Brower had last night, and it's worth losing a little to see that
happen; but usually we end up pretty much as we started."
"Except me," said Marks; "I just borrowed these chips from Cantel."
Until now Cantel had been silent, bent on earning the price of two
theatre tickets for the coming Saturday night; but Marks' words roused
him.
"Don't believe it," he said. "In the first place I never have chips to
lend, and in the second place I wouldn't take a chance on this guy. I
don't mind holding two deuces, but two I.O.U.'s of Marks' are too many
for my job."
"Shut up and decorate," growled Brower, who, Evan immediately
discovered, was the unhappy possessor of the four, five, six and seven
of diamonds and the eight of clubs.
Marks tried a bluff and Levison called it.
"You're too industrious," cried the other C man "this bunch
relinquishes its Angora only once a night."
Evan laughed, and felt his fingers itch for a draw. Instead of asking
for a hand, though, he took a letter from his pocket and wrote on the
back of it something for memorization. Then he told the boys he had
not yet eaten supper, and they excused him with good-natured remarks.
After indulging in a sandwich, a small bowl of rice-custard, and two
slices of brown bread, he went up to the boarding-house. As Robb was
not in, he was obliged to entertain himself. He hit on the form of
entertainment uppermost in his mind--cards. He took the memorandum he
had written above the bank, and dealing out a poker hand to four
imaginary players and himself, proceeded to create flushes and other
combinations. He was unfair in his playing, however, as he looked at
each man's hand and selected cards from it instead of the pack. In
this way he managed to deal himself a royal flush three times in fifty
minutes. The exercise was tiring, though, and he leaned back in his
chair. In that restful attitude a lethargy came upon him, and he
day-dreamed about poker.
It was a game of science and chance, but were not all other games also
dependent upon science and chance--even to a game of ball? There was
something in what Levison had said: in going to the Island one did buy
the _chance_ of having a good time. And as to the selfishness of the
game, did not the boys want him to join them? If they were going to
lose by having him with them it was not likely they would invite him.
As far as his own possible losses were concerned, Evan had seen enough
to feel sure he would break about even. Thus he would have all the fun
for nothing, and would be one among the other fellows. Being without
the money to participate much in a city's recreation, he welcomed the
opportunity of getting something for nothing, which it seemed he would
do in an odd game of poker at one penny ante.
The strain of daily work was severe; one could not think of spending
the evenings with a book--that was too much like more work. What one
needed was something with many laughs, a few cigarettes, and the
company of other bankclerks. But where did bankclerks, on salaries
varying from $300 to $800, congregate? At clubs? In the drawing-rooms
of society? Under the white lights of theatre facades? No--in a
shabby, lonely room somewhere, where a nickel looked like two bits.
That was where one must go to be among them, and to be one among them
he must buy, with his spare pennies, the chances of pleasure they
bought.
Evan's dreaming was bringing him near the dividing-line between sense
and nonsense. But what, O Employer of Labor, determined the trend of
his dreams? If he had been able to take an occasional trip up to
Hometon, only three hours' journey, would he have lain awake nights
devising means of filling up the dreary evenings? If he had even been
able to take a friend out to the theatre occasionally, those cool
spring nights, without borrowing the money, would penny poker have so
interested him? But you will not listen, Mr. Employer. You say: "If
we raise him $200 instead of $100, _he will only spend it anyway_!" If
your Maker had given you one hand instead of two, because of the
possibility of your doing more harm with two than one, would you not
doubt His wisdom, to say nothing of justice or mercy? What if the
bankclerk does spend all he makes--who made _you_ his guardian? You
are his employer, not his father or mother. If he can earn $1,000 a
year after three years' service (and in the _Star Weekly_, Toronto,
summer of 1912, a Canadian Bank official declared that a bankclerk was
no good unless he could) what right have you to give him only $500 or
$600?
Evan dreamed of amusing himself, until sleep came; sleep, almost the
only inexpensive and valuable amusement some people get. Next morning
he awakened in a sporting frame of mind, and went to work somewhat
buoyant for having strangled an awkward scruple.
"Are you going to play again to-night?" he asked the paying-teller.
"Sure," said Levison, "but we've got five already. Bill Watson is
coming. I don't think the fellows care for a six-handed game."
Evan did not notice the smile on Sid's face. He went back to his
cash-book with the intention of coaxing his way into the evening's
game. By and by Brower came along from the accountant's desk.
"Say, Nelsy," he whispered over the cash-book, "Marks got a sure tip
from the races through his uncle to-day, and we're all going in on it.
It's all right, believe me. He gave us one at the last races and we
all made a five to one clean-up. This is a ten to one, sure. If
you've got a dollar to throw away give it to Marks."
"I haven't got any to throw away," replied Nelson, annoyed that on top
of his recent surrender to poker someone should try to coax him into
playing the races.
"Oh, very well," laughed the ledgerman, "no harm done."
Evan made a sudden resolution that he not only would not bet with them
that day but that he would pass up the poker game that night: it would
show them that he had a mind of his own, even though he did want to be
sociable. However, late in the afternoon he began to wonder what he
would do in the evening. He almost wished the cash book would not
balance before nine or ten o'clock.
Nevertheless, and strange to relate, about six o'clock the big
red-backed book did balance. No one was around to hear Evan exclaim:
"A first shot!"
He was washing his hands at the tap when a key turned in the front door
and Cantel came running in.
"Hurrah! Hurrah!" he shouted, "we're all rich."
Evan asked him if he had gone crazy.
"No," replied Cantel, "but Levison has. He bet ten dollars and cleaned
up a hundred. The rest of us made from ten to thirty. Here, Nelsy,
here's your ten bucks."
The cash-book man laughed ironically.
"You certainly have gone nutty," he said, wiping his hands on the
towel. "I didn't bet anything."
"Listen here," said Cantel, "this is the dollar I owed you. Brower
told me you wouldn't bet, and we were so danged sure of cleaning up
that I decided to place your bet myself. I made twenty on my own
account."
Evan was struck with the sporting generosity of his fellow clerk, but
could only decline the money.
"That's going too far, Cant," he said.
Cantel began to swear and continued swearing until several other clerks
had clattered down through the office, whooping and laughing. Watson
was almost fizzing with gin and lemon. Levison, too, walked with a
slant. They gathered around Nelson, telling him what a good cash-book
man he was and what a fool for not getting in on some of their "outside
money."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Evan at last, "I'll take the dollar
out that Cantel owes me and stake you the other nine on a poker game,
providing you do not ask me to play."
"You f-foolish f-fellow," stammered Watson.
"Wh-what's s'matter?" asked Sid, thickly, "weren't you asking s'morning
about a game?"
"I want to see how it's done once more before playing," parried Evan,
who was in reality beginning to hanker after the game. It would, he
figured, be almost as much fun looking on as playing--one night longer,
anyway.
Upstairs in the little room five reserves and a pot stood before
Nelson's eyes. The boys had been playing half an hour. Levison, drunk
and reckless because of the day's winnings, bluffed out three jacks
with a pair of kings and laughed until he nearly choked. Watson, too,
played recklessly, but was singularly lucky. After three successful
plays Bill exclaimed:
"Let's raise the limit; I'm sick of this monotony."
"I'm game," laughed Levison.
"Naw!" cried Cantel, who had been losing.
"Come on, be a sport," said Brower and Marks in different phrasing.
"Not for mine," replied Cantel; "I quit the game. Maybe Nelsy will sit
in a few hands."
"Sure he will," said Marks, "there's class to him. He's a sport or he
never would have thrown away nine bucks on millionaires like us. Come
on, Nelson, get in the game."
"Yes, come on," coaxed Levison, in syllables impossible to write, "and
if you lose too much we'll give you back something from the pot. It's
only for fun--we want your company."
Without taking into consideration the raising of the limit, for the
reason that he knew he would not need to bet, and figuring that he
could play merely for the fun of it a while at penny losses, Evan gave
in at length.
"Well, I'll try it," he said, ashamed of his stubbornness, "just for
sport."
As luck would have it he raked in a few pots right on the start; then
came odd losses and another succession of gains. His success seemed to
please rather than tease the other boys, and, to repay them for their
consideration, Evan decided it was up to him to make a few bets. He
played rather recklessly after a couple of good winnings, saying to
himself that the game was going to be short-lived; and his recklessness
brought him luck.
How the time flew! Evan looked at his watch and could not believe his
eyes--it was ten minutes to ten. He mentioned the fact to the boys.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Watson, "I must go down and have a swig before the
bars close. Come on, Sid."
In a few minutes the two tipplers returned with what Bill declared to
be a "full house"--three bottles of beer and two flasks of whiskey.
Evan was sorry to see the stuff brought in and told them so.
"Now don't be too hard on us, Nelsy," pleaded Watson, in a drunkenly
comical tone, "we won't ask you to drink."
"No, shir-ee," said Sid, "Nelz all right. Good sport."
Flattered in spite of himself, his blood warming up, Evan played on,
and tolerated the drinks. Toward the close of the game he proceeded
carefully, however, not that he intended to keep the money he had
gained and use it for clothes or board, but that he might hold it over
for other nights and prolong this newly-found form of amusement! He
swore to himself, and told the boys, that when the money he had gained
was spent he would not play any more, because he was beginning to see
that some of the fellows might lose more than their salaries could
afford. This was a special night, and they didn't notice it much, but
as a precedent, and so forth, excuses and arguments _ad infinitum_.
Evan might have been able to stop after losing the sum he had gained,
and he might not. Some bankboys had turned away from the exciting
pastimes of the majority, to find what pleasure they could in walking
the streets and patronizing the picture shows, but whether Evan would
have been able to do it or not is not for this story to decide. He was
not destined to remain in the bank, to suffer through the years its
impositions; he was not going to be saddled with the responsibility of
choosing between hopeless monotony and a life of blind recklessness.
That miserable lot was for others, whom Nelson would some day assist in
throwing off the yoke.
Sid Levison, now thirty years of age and drawing $1,100 a year, had
made resolutions like Evan's, believing himself to be stronger than
circumstances. He had started off in the bank with just as high ideals
as Nelson's, and with a sweetheart just as true as Frankie; but years
of disappointment had crushed both his hopes and his ideals, until now
he lived for the petty and illusive pleasures of the moment; drink,
gambling, and other demoralizing "recreations."
Sid Levison, and other bankclerks like him, were abandoned to a life of
waste because they had never been given a fair chance. Had they been
honestly paid for service in the early years of their banking life they
might have spent, at first, all of their salary and done considerable
mischief to themselves and others, but when they came out of their
youthful nightmare the future would not have been blank and
lustreless--as it often is to Sid Levisons, as matters stand. They
open their eyes for a moment to the impossibilities of their situation,
and close them again with a sigh or an oath, hating the light of common
day, so cold and blinding in comparison with the witching glow of
midnight flame.
Bill Watson and those other young poker-players were following in the
way of their paying-teller, innocently, naturally. Every day they are
following in that way, and the bank is perfectly willing that they
should. Does not a man become dependent upon the bank in proportion as
he loses his own self-dependence, and in proportion as a man is
dependent upon his employer is he not subject to the whims of that
employer?
The public often wonders about bankclerks, and about other office-men,
too, in fact. Why don't they settle down at a reasonable age and do
their part toward building up a nation? Young men in their teens are
expected to be silly, but when a man of thirty is still a waster he
becomes an enigma.
"What's the matter?" people ask; "where lies the origin of the trouble?"
"In human nature," the capitalist answers. That is the answer that
pleases and excuses him. But is it true and sufficient?
Those whom fortune has favored may, until the day of doom, invent
sophisms to veil their selfishness, but they cannot get rid of the
obligations resting upon them--without discharging them.
When those obligations are ignored injustice is wrought, and oftimes
the result is crime.