Mr. Cleveland was fond—not overfond—of cards. He liked to play the
noble game at, say, a dollar limit—even once in a while for a little
more—but not much more. And as Dr. Norvin Green was wont to observe of
Commodore Vanderbilt, “he held them exceeding close to his boo-som.”
Mr. Whitney, Secretary of the Navy in his first administration, equally
rich and hospitable, had often “the road gang,” as a certain group,
mainly senators, was called, to dine, with the inevitable after-dinner
soirée or séance. I was, when in Washington, invited to these parties.
At one of them I chanced to sit between the President and Senator Don
Cameron. Mr. Carlisle, at the time Speaker of the House—who handled his
cards like a child and, as we all knew, couldn’t play a little—was
seated on the opposite side of the table.
After a while Mr. Cameron and I began “bluffing” the game—I recall that
the limit was five dollars—that is, raising and back-raising each
other, and whoever else happened to be in, without much or any regard
to the cards we held.
It chanced on a deal that I picked up a pat flush, Mr. Cleveland a pat
full. The Pennsylvania senator and I went to the extreme, the President
of course willing enough for us to play his hand for him. But the
Speaker of the House persistently stayed with us and could not be
driven out.
When it came to a draw Senator Cameron drew one card. Mr. Cleveland and
I stood pat. But Mr. Carlisle drew four cards. At length, after much
banter and betting, it reached a show-down and, _mirabile dictu_, the
Speaker held four kings!
“Take the money, Carlisle; take the money,” exclaimed the President.
“If ever I am President again you shall be Secretary of the Treasury.
But don’t you make that four-card draw too often.”
He was President again, and Mr. Carlisle was Secretary of the Treasury.