THE WORK OF THE “CAPPERS.”
Standing at the entrance to a prominent hotel on King street one summer
evening some years ago were two stylishly-dressed young men, each with
nobby canes, which they twirled carelessly as they nonchalantly puffed
away the smoke from their cheroots, gorgeous jewelry and moustaches
waxed out to a point as fine as a needle. To the envious and hard-worked
store clerk they appeared to be gentlemen in looks, thoughts, actions,
and living. To the detective, who was watching them, they were known
as miserable stool-pigeons, “cappers” for a notorious gambling hell,
situated in rear of a King street building, on the lookout for victims.
And it was these vile, heartless scoundrels that caused George Reynott’s
ruin. His father was a well-to-do merchant in a country town near Guelph
who had sent George to the city to gain a metropolitan experience in a
wholesale dry goods house, but it would have been better had George been
satisfied to remain at home with his father in the town where he was
such a favorite. He was barely twenty-four years of age, frank in manner
and pleasing in address, with a temperament not suited to withstand the
temptations of city life. He came to the city with a light heart, full
of energy and with bright hopes for the future. Now he is a broken down
gambler, inebriate and burglar, serving out a ten years’ term in Joliet
prison, while his aged father lies in a grave prepared for him by his
son’s follies and crimes. The writer knows not when the “cappers” first
made George’s acquaintance, but the detective states that he had seen
the trio together several times in saloons and billiard parlors, where
they occasionally played a five-cent game of “shell out.” Gradually
George became imbued with a desire to see more of the world, and his
wily companions, knowing that his father kept him well supplied with
money, gave impetus to this desire by relating surprising stories of
midnight escapades, card parties and champagne suppers. When the poor
deluded victim first commenced to handle the ivory chips is not known,
but in a very short time he became one of the most constant visitors to
the luxuriously furnished hell. His repeated requests for money alarmed
his father, and his frequent absences from work annoyed his employers to
such an extent that they finally wrote to the father. The letter had its
effect. Mr. Reynott came to the city, and after a conversation with the
wholesale firm consulted a detective, who explained just how far George
had gone.
THE SCENE BETWEEN FATHER AND SON
was a painful one, but it ended happily, the latter having promised never
to touch a card again. He meant at the time to keep his word, but in less
than a month the “cappers” regained their old influence over him, and
he became more fascinated than ever with gaming. When he was unable to
get more money from his father he pawned his jewelry, until one night he
took the second decided step in the downward path. There were five seated
at a table, George among them, two being strangers, and the other two
being regular “skins,” when the writer entered the room, but they were
so engrossed with their play that they paid no attention to the visitor.
It was draw poker, twenty-five-cent ante and five dollars limit, and
much to the surprise of at least one person in the room, George was away
winner, having half a dozen stacks of chips in front of him, along with
a roll of bills and a pile of silver. His face was deeply flushed, his
eyes sparkled, and his whole frame quivered with the intense excitement
that consumed him, but when the “luck” commenced to turn, and he saw his
chips and bills gradually fading away, a ghastly pallor spread over his
face, driving back the gambler’s blood to his heart. The “skins” had
been utilizing a pack of “markers,” and in order to rob the strangers
had first dealt George the winners, so as to more securely hide their
villainy, and had then fleeced him at their leisure. When the unhappy
young man found himself completely ruined, with his I.O.U. for $25 in the
hands of one of the gamblers, he was filled with a great remorse, and
wept like the child he really was. He felt that he must pay the debt of
“honor” contracted over the poker table or be
DISGRACED AMONG HIS “FRIENDS.”
And he did pay it, but at the expense of his honesty and his employers.
He stole goods from the store, pawned them to pay his gambling debt,
was found out, and would have been sent to jail but for the respect the
employers had for the father. After this exploit the reckless young man
went headlong to the devil. He became a frequenter of the lowest gambling
dens in the city, practised “skin” games till he became as skilful as his
old-time “cappers,” and his passion for the card table became so strong
that when he could find no other game he would take a hand at “nigger
loo” with the most notorious colored gang in the city. By this time his
stakes had dwindled down from a $10 bet to one cent ante and fifty cents
limit. He needed the balance of his cash for whisky! Three months ago
the writer saw George Reynott making his way with “kindly curves” to a
gambling house on King street. Last week a dispatch announced that he had
been sent to Joliette prison for ten years for burglary.
* * * * *
Such is the brief history, and a true one it is, of a young man who, but
for those miserable scoundrels known as “cappers,” might have become a
respectable member of society. Nor is this a solitary case. The gambling
hells are nightly visited by young men well connected and refined in
manner, but they are unable to resist the fascination of a game at poker.
They play, and play high. They are on small salaries; where do they get
the money?