If the old saying, "Every man has his price," be true, then every
man can be caught on some scheme or trick. There are persons who
have never made a bet of any kind in their lives, that would do so
if they saw something that they knew to be a sure winner. Then
there are others who will bet on many things, but they pride
themselves on being too smart to bet on any man's trick; and the
more they see others doing so, the more sanguine they are that no
one could ever catch them with chaff. I have met many of the latter
class, and always tried to down them. They, of course, would not
bit at the monte bait, for it was too stale for them; so I would
study sometimes for hours how to take the conceit out of them.
I remember being on board the steamer _Grand Duke_, coming out of
New Orleans, at one time just after the Mardi Gras Festival. The
boat was crowded with passengers, and we were having a very lively
game of monte, when a fellow from the Red River country, named
Picket, came up to the table and began pulling coat-tails. He was
one of those smart Alecks who knew all the tricks (or at least he
thought he did), and he imagined that it was his especial duty to
warn others of their danger. If he could not stop them with a tail
pull, he would tell them not to bet, as I was a regular gambler
and would win their money sure when they thought the sure thing
was in their favor; and some of them would not heed his warning,
but put down their money, and of course lose it.
I put up with Picket's interference for some time, and then I put
up my cards, resolving to down the Red River man if it lay in my
power. I invited all hands to join me in a drink, and then excused
myself, saying:
"I'm suffering with the toothache, and will go to my room."
In a short time I returned and took a seat in the hall near the
stove, as it was quite chilly. Mr. Picket and a number of other
gentlemen were seated around, and we soon got to telling stories.
My tooth ached so badly that I could not enjoy the stories, and
was constantly complaining of the pain. A great many remedies were
suggested, but they could not be had on the boat. Finally the
barkeeper recommended hot salt held on the side of the face. I
asked him if he had any. He said no, but I could get it in the
pantry. I got up and went for the salt. I returned in a short
time with a package of salt about the size of a goose egg, which
was twisted up in a piece of paper. I put it on the stove, and
when it got hot I held it to my face until it cooled off, then I
put it back on the stove.
While the salt was getting hot a second time, I went to my room to
get something. The barkeeper said to the crowd:
"Let's have some fun with Devol."
So saying, he opened the package, threw out the salt, and filled
up the paper with ashes. I came back, picked up my salt, and held
it to my face. Picket asked me if it was doing my tooth any good.
I told him I thought it was. Then they all laughed at the idea of
hot salt being good for the toothache, and Picket said:
"Devol, do you know that when salt gets hot it will turn into
ashes?"
"No, I don't. What do you take me for? You must have been drinking,"
I replied.
They all laughed again, and Picket spoke up, saying:
"I don't believe you have any salt in that paper."