There was an oblong box in which were stacked leather envelopes, each
envelope bearing a numbered card.
Mr. Dawlin seemed to be a very generous individual; he would allow
patrons to win considerable money by picking prize envelopes into which
he had slipped crisp bills; he also seemed to be a careless operator.
For instance, he would quite openly put a twenty or a fifty dollar bill
into the envelope holding the card numbered 0. Then he would shuffle the
envelopes and with carelessness utterly blind would leave the corner of
that card sticking up a bit, revealing the upper part of the numeral.
Feverishly excited patrons would bid high for the privilege of drawing
first--sometimes almost as high as the prize itself, for Mr. Dawlin
had plainly left a good thing exposed. But, strangely enough, what had
seemed like the figure 0 was revealed in the drawing as the figure 9
with an exaggerated upper loop. If the patron made moan and let out
the secret of his grief, Mr. Dawlin reproached him for trying to take
advantage of an oversight in an honest game. Such was the activity known
as “gazara” in our establishment! I don’t know who gave the game that
designation. I believe that in Maccabees a town of that name is spoken
of--and being in Apocrypha seems well placed. It may be that the game
started there--at the same time the gold-brick game was hatched in
Gomorrah. Both schemes must be very ancient--for they are true, tried,
and certain.
Mr. Dawlin had much information to give me regarding games in general.
He told me about his brother Ike, a proficient gold-brick artist. He
said that if I cared to go into that line he would put me next to his
brother. Mr. Dawlin, as had the others of his fraternity, complimented
me on my honest looks. When I dared to suggest that the gold-brick
scheme must be known to everybody, and all played out, he laughed at my
ignorance. He said that getting a whole lot for a little always had been
a bait for human greed and always would be; as to getting at the yaps in
these days, it was only a matter of fresh style of approach and men like
his brother were thinking up new methods of approach all the time.
Men who needed money in a hurry to make up a balance were almost always
ready to gamble heavily and desperately.
He said his brother had a deal on at that very time, but that it was too
late for me to get in on that, for the thing was all set and pretty near
ready to be pulled off. It was an up-country case, of course.
“Plant by ‘Peacock’ Pratt,” said Davdin. That was a new name for my
roster of rascality, and I stuck it into a mental pigeonhole. “Pratt is
a white-vest operator. Paunch scenery!” He saw that I wasn’t catching
him very well and explained that Pratt affected the manner of a
prosperous Westerner who regularly stoned neighbors’ chickens out of his
garden with gold nuggets.
Speaking of gold, I was not specially dissatisfied with the rake-off I
was getting from these precious rascals, though, of course, it was small
as compared with my diver’s wages. But standing in the sunshine under a
plug-hat with nothing to do but gabble nonsense was a softer snap than
grubbing under muddy water with a diver’s helmet stuck over my head. I
was truly in a way to succumb to the blandishments of my cheap screak
and settle down into the practice of roguery.
But I had some sense of shame left in me. I kept on that disguising
mustache when I was before the public. It was not much of a mask, to
be sure, but it comforted me a bit to know that it made me look unlike
myself.
And that’s why the Sortwell boys from Levant did not recognize me when
they halted on the sidewalk one day and listened to my barking.
There they were, the two of them, grown up to manhood; but they were
mighty green specimens. They were looking at the banners rather than at
me. I wagered with myself that it was the first time they had ever been
in the big city; even one trip would have rounded off some of the rough
comers they were showing. For instance, they surely would have had
experience with such a peep-show as we were running and would not have
been tempted.
They walked over to the painted maiden and asked her if she could
recommend the show; they grinned and gaped at her amorously. She fawned
on them and they bought tickets and went in. I wasn’t a bit sorry, nor
did I try to stop them. My last expenence with the gang in Levant had
not implanted in me any hankering to hug and kiss the Sortwell boys.
I watched for them to come out, for I felt pretty sure that they would
be properly trimmed and I anticipated secret relish in looking on their
faces. I told myself I didn’t care. If a good jolt should be handed to
them it would help in satisfying my grudge against the town which had
sent me flying. Bitterness was in me at that moment. I was glad I was
out of the jay place. If I had stayed there I would be looking just
like those simpering rubes who had gone in like lambs to be sheared. I’d
never want to go back to that town, I decided all over again.
When they came out each one carried one of Professor Jewelle’s charts,
and they were crying like great calves--actually guffling slobbering
sobs. They went away a little distance and stood on the sidewalk,
looking at each other and scruffing tears from their eyes with the palms
of their hands. Awhile back if somebody had told me I would see a couple
of big, larruping chaps from Levant doing that on the street in broad
daylight, I’d have predicted a good laugh for myself.
Well, there was nothing like that in my case!
A lump swelled in my throat. I don’t know what it was--whether ’twas
homesickness, longing for my own people of my own kind, spectacle of
boys who had gone barefoot with me, sight of their sorrow, mindfulness
of what the cruel city had done to me, reflection that I had helped in
a measure to get them into their scrape--I say I don’t know just what it
was. But my throat gripped and tears flowed up into my eyes. Those
poor devils, who were children in spite of their size, were helplessly
adrift--I could see that. Something special must have happened to them.
I seem to be stopping to analyze my emotions. At the time I was doing
nothing of the sort. I felt a comforting sense that I was not a rascal
down in my heart, in spite of what I had done and of the job I was
holding down.
I left my rostrum, ran into the little office, and tipped Dawlin’s
bottle of whisky against my upper lip; the alcohol dissolved the gum and
I ripped off the mustache. Then I chased along after the Sortwell boys.
They were far up the street, plugging slowly with bowed shoulders.
When I came close upon them I took my time to get my breath and control
my emotions. Then I called to them, and they turned around and stared
at me with eyes which expressed all the range of feelings between
interrogation and stupefaction.
“Well, haven’t you anything to say to an old friend?” I asked.
“It ain’t you,” faltered the older. “It may look like you, but it
ain’t.”
“There ain’t anything in this place that’s looking like it really is,”
whimpered the younger. “There was a card with a zero on it and it wasn’t
a zero--it was a nine--and he took our money.”
“Have you lost your money, boys?”
“All of it--every scrimptom of it,” bawled the older. “We ’ain’t got
anything to get home with. We saved up to come down and see the city for
a couple of days--and now it’s all gone.”
“We worked all winter logging--sweating and freezing in Cale Warson’s
swamp--to earn that money, and that hell-hound down there took it and
jammed it into his pants pocket. And how’ll we get home?”
Oh, I knew what logging in a swamp was! I knew what sort of wages were
paid and how hard it is to save! That one sentence fairly lanced my
conscience. “He jammed it into his pocket!” To Jeff Dawlin, who reached
out and took in his money so easily, those bills were hardly more than
so much paper, as he handled them.
But he had not been a boy in a country town where money is not come at
so easily, where the little hoards grow so slowly, where there are
so many dreams about the big world up in the attics under the patched
coverlids--dreams which the little savings may bring to realization!
These were boys from my home town. Thank God, a lot of the cheap in me,
the soul-dirt I had rubbed off in my associations, the cynical notions
about right and wrong, the inclinations of a swaggering sport--yes, a
whole lot of that slime was washed out of me right there and then by my
new emotions. I don’t say I was made anyways clean--not all of it went.
I have done many things since then to be ashamed of. But I was a blamed
sight more of a man when I went up and patted those poor boys on their
backs, standing between them.
“Don’t take on about it any more, fellows,” I said. “I guess I’ll be
able to do something for you.” My tone was pretty important and they
began to look me over; they had been so fussed up that they had not
taken full stock of me till then.
“Golly! You’re rich, ain’t you?” gasped the older.
“Now about losing this money--where did you lose it?” I asked, swelling
a little more because I knew I was in the way to make a big impression.
“Down the street there--where those fraud duflickers are all billed out!
It looked like a zero--”
“And they charged three dollars apiece for feeling of our heads!” put in
the younger. “There was a big man who cracked his fists--”
“Never mind! I know all about all such places, boys. I won’t allow any
such things to be put across in this city on any friends of mine!”
I was talking as if I owned the town. They goggled at me as if they
believed that I did own it. When I started back toward Dawlin’s joint
they followed me like hounds at heel.
I flipped a lordly gesture at the girl in the ticket-office and walked
in without paying--herding my clients ahead of me. That was visible
evidence of my mysterious importance, and they looked up at me as if
they were ready to fall down and offer worship. For in America any man
who can walk past ticket-sellers and pay by a flip of the hand, displays
a power which autocrats may envy.
“You are sure this is the place?” I asked the Sortwell boys.
They breathlessly assured me that it was.
“And there’s the man who made us pay him six dollars,” declared the
older.
Professor Jewelle had stepped out through the slit in his curtains. I
walked up to him.
“Did you charge these gentlemen six dollars--take the money from them?”
I asked, sternly.
He saw that there was something on and, like a rogue, believed, of
course, that I was plotting further graft on these innocents. He played
up to me with shrewd promptness.
“If I have done anything wrong I ask pardon,” he whined.
“These are particular friends of mine. Hand over their money at once!”
He turned his back on them while he pulled out the money and gave me
a wink which indicated that he was on and approved whatever game I was
playing. I kept my face straight and stern, for the boys were surveying
me with adoration.
I handed them the money and went across to Mr. Dawlin’s booth, the hicks
at my heels.
Mr. Dawlin was by nature more suspicious of his fellow-man than was
Professor Jewelle, and he evidently resented the fact that I had not
tipped him off in advance. He regarded me with much sullenness when I
commanded him to return the money he had taken from the gentlemen. His
sour unwillingness, mingled with his uncertainty, really helped my game
along. It looked as if I had the power to force even such a balky mule
as Dawlin seemed to be.
“I don’t know about this!” he growled.
“I can’t help that! You’ll have to take my word--till you can get
something better,” I added, and I put a little significance into my last
words.
And Mr. Dawlin, being a rascal who thought he could sniff a plant,
decided to grab in on a partner’s game. “Why, sure, boss,” he cried,
heartily, “if that’s the way you feel about it! Take any gents that’s
friends of yours and all you have to do is speak the word!” He pulled
out of his trousers pocket a big wad of crumpled bills. “Do you know how
much they spent backing their opinion against mine?”
“It was twenty-two dollars--it was just twenty-two dollars,” piped one
of the boys, and the other one helped out on the chorus.
“The rising young financiers seem to have no doubt,” sneered Dawlin.
The older boy looked at the big swatch of bills and rasped his rough
hands together.
“Perhaps money don’t mean much to you, mister, handling it the way you
do! But if you earnt twenty-two dollars by day’s work, getting into a
popple-swamp before sunup, I guess you’d know it when you counted those
dollars out to anybody.”
“So that’s the way you earned this money? How much more did you earn?”
Dawlin screwed a look at me, showing fresh suspicion.
“I’ll do the talking,” I said. “I’ll talk because I know what I’m doing!
I say only this: hand over the coin!”
“And I say again, I don’t know about that!”
I reckoned I was overplaying my air of importance, so I found a chance
to slip him a wink which promised a good deal.
“But you know who I am!” I told him.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Then pay!”
He began to grin, finding this little comedy amusing as well as
mysterious.
“Sure thing, boss! And seeing that it’s you and your orders,’ here’s
five dollars for your friends on top of the twenty-two. Go and buy five
dollars’ worth of corned beef and eat your heads off! Nothing like going
the limit when you come down to the big burg!”