HOCKLEY IN TROUBLE
On the following morning all the boys, with the exception of Hockley,
were up bright and early. They wanted to see as much as possible of
Ponce, for the professor assured them that the public buildings, the
ancient churches, and the parks and public drives were all well worth
visiting.
“I don’t want to go out,” said Hockley, when called. “The horseback
riding made me stiff. I’d rather rest to-day,” and so, while the others
spent a day visiting a score of places, he was left behind to do as he
pleased.
The money he had received from his indulgent father had been “burning
a hole in his pocket,” to use a common expression. He wanted a chance
to have a good time, and as soon as Professor Strong and the others had
departed he set out for that purpose.
“I’m going to do as I please after this,” he told himself. “And no
Captain Sudlip shall get the best of me either.”
Having finished his breakfast Hockley purchased a package of cigarettes
and then went to the café for a “bracer.” He thought it quite manly to
drink a “bracer,” although he was in no need of the liquor. To show off
he paid for the drink out of a twenty dollar bill he possessed and at
the same time took good care to show the roll of money he carried.
The foolish boy did not realize that Ponce was at this time filled with
fortune hunters of all sorts, men who had drifted in from the States
and from other places, all anxious to see if American rule of the
island would not give them some chance of bettering their condition.
Many of the fortune hunters were hard working and honest, but there was
another sort, gamblers and those who lived by their wits. These were
the fellows to be met with at the cafés and other drinking resorts.
Not far from where Hockley was standing stood a man of about forty,
stout, and dressed in a checked suit of loud pattern. The man boasted
of a profusion of heavy jewelry, and from his shirt bosom sparkled an
immense “diamond”--of the sort which can be purchased in any large
city for ten or twenty-five cents. The man wore patent leather boots,
and his general appearance showed him to be the sport that he was.
In an easy way he lounged up to Hockley. His eye had noted the youth’s
roll of bills and he made up his mind that here was a possible victim.
He put his hand in his pocket and drew forth a large dead bug.
“Excuse me,” he said, politely and reached for Hockley’s collar. “It’s
a pinching bug, I guess,” and he threw the bug on the floor and crushed
it with his foot.
Of course Hockley thanked the stranger for his kindness and then,
as the latter was not drinking, asked him to have something. The
invitation was promptly accepted, and in return the stranger also
treated.
“My name is Brown,” he said. “J. Rutherford Brown, and I am from
Montana. I take it you are a newcomer in Ponce.”
“I am,” answered Hockley, and told his name and mentioned the party of
which he was a member. “It’s rather slow, traveling around with those
other fellows,” he added. “I want to see some sport.”
“Of course,” rejoined J. Rutherford Brown, enthusiastically. “I like a
little sport myself.”
More talk followed, and in the end it was agreed that the pair should
go on a little trip of their own, down the seashore, to a resort where,
according to the man from Montana, a “bang up, good, all around time”
could be had. “I’ll show you some real life,” said J. Rutherford Brown.
“Nothing like it anywhere.”
They were soon on the way, in a carriage the man from Montana insisted
on engaging. The route lay out of Ponce proper and along a seaside
drive to where some enterprising American hotel men had erected several
buildings, devoted partly to keeping boarders but mostly to gambling.
The man from Montana had brought a flask of liquor with him, and he
insisted on treating, so that by the time the resort he had in mind was
reached poor Hockley was in anything but a clear state mentally. He
felt strangely elated.
“This is all right,” he repeated several times. “You’re a good fellow,
Brown, a fine fellow. Glad we met. You’ll lose nothing on me, no, sir.
I’ve got money, I have, and I mean to spend it.”
“That’s all right, but I insist on paying my own way,” answered J.
Rutherford Brown, smoothly. “I’ve got money myself.”
Once at the resort it was an easy matter for the sharper to get Hockley
into a side room, where the pair were free from observation. In pulling
a handkerchief from his pocket, the man from Montana let fall a pack of
cards.
“Hullo, you play cards?” asked Hockley. “But of course you do. So do I.
Let’s have a game.”
J. Rutherford Brown was willing, indeed, he was going to suggest a game
himself, and having ordered more liquor, and also a fine dinner, they
sat down. At first they played for fun. But then the man from Montana
spoke of a game in which he had won five dollars, and poor, deluded
Hockley at once insisted they put up something. Thus the betting
started, at a dollar, and the youth was allowed to win twenty times
that sum.
“Told you I could do it,” said Hockley. “But you shall have a chance to
win it back directly after dinner.” And after the meal the game began
again, and lasted the best part of two hours.
It is not my intention in these pages to describe the manner in which
Hockley was fleeced out of his money, nearly a hundred and seventy-five
dollars all told. Let me say flatly that I do not approve of gambling
in any form, and the person who gambles and loses his money deserves no
sympathy. It is a poor way in which to waste valuable time, and money
won at gambling rarely does the winner any good. It is generally a case
of “easy come and easy go,” and with the coming and going the player
loses a self-respect which is hard to regain.
When the last game was played Hockley sat back in a dazed, blank way.
He had lost it all--every dollar had passed into the hands of J.
Rutherford Brown. And not only his money but also his watch and his
ring, those precious gifts from his father and his mother. At first he
could not realize it.
“Gone!” he muttered hoarsely, and there was almost a sob in his voice.
“Better luck next time,” returned the man from Montana, cheerfully. And
then he shoved a glass of liquor at the foolish youth, who clutched and
drank it eagerly, in the hope of regaining his “nerve.”
What happened immediately after that Hockley could scarcely tell with
certainty. He remembered being helped into a carriage, and of taking a
long drive, and then all became a blank.
When he came to his senses he sat up in a dazed fashion. He knew
nothing but that his head ached as if it was going to split open and
that his mouth felt parched to the last degree.
“Where am I?” he muttered and stared around him. On all sides were
boxes and barrels, and he had been lying on some of these, with some
old bagging for a pillow. Gradually it dawned upon him that this was
a warehouse and that the rising sun was shining in at several of the
long, slatted windows. A strong smell of tobacco pervaded the place.
“A tobacco warehouse,” he murmured, slowly. “Now how did I come here
and what makes my head ache so?” He tried to collect his thoughts. “I
went out riding with that stranger and we had a big dinner together,
and then we played cards----”
He stopped short and felt into his pockets. They were empty. Then he
clutched his watch pocket and felt of his finger upon which the ring
had rested. The full realization of what had occurred now burst upon
him, and his breath grew short while heavy beads of perspiration stood
out on his brow.
“Cleaned out!” he muttered. “Cleaned out, just as I was cleaned out by
Dan Market! Oh, what a fool I’ve been!” And tears of rage filled his
eyes, while he pounded his fist on the top of a barrel. Then he leaped
up and shook the fist in the air.
“But he shan’t get the best of me! I’ll make him square up if I have to
go to the police and tell everybody! He shan’t get the best of me!”
His hat had rolled to the floor, and putting it on he hurried to the
warehouse door, which was unlocked. Beyond was a dock extending to the
waterfront and close at hand was a road leading to the city, four miles
away. A cart was passing and he hailed the driver. By signs and a few
words of broken Spanish he let the cart driver know he wanted to get to
Ponce as soon as possible and the native made room for him on the rough
seat.
The drive in the early morning air did Hockley good, and by the time
the cart rattled along on the uneven pavements of the city the lank
youth felt somewhat like himself. At a public fountain he left the
native and got a drink. Possibly the native expected pay for his
service, but if so he was disappointed, and he drove on looking as if
such were his feeling.
Now that he felt a little better Hockley sat down in one of the city
parks to review the situation. It was all well enough to go after J.
Rutherford Brown and have him arrested, but what would Professor Strong
say to the whole proceedings?
“Hang the professor!” he exclaimed, and gave the park bench a savage
kick with his foot. “I’m going to have satisfaction. I’m going to catch
that fellow and make him give up my money and things if I die for it!”
Leaving the park he espied an American, and from this man received
directions which speedily took him to the café where he had first met
J. Rutherford Brown. Going inside, he asked for the man.
“Haven’t seen him this morning,” replied the keeper of the resort.
“Do you know where he lives?” went on Hockley. “It’s a matter of
importance to him,” he went on, shrewdly.
“He has a room at the Snug Corner, I believe.”
“Where is that?”
“Three squares up the street, on the corner.”
Waiting to hear no more, Hockley strode out and up the street in
the direction indicated. It was now ten o’clock, and he had had no
breakfast, but just then he had no thought of eating.
Walking into the corridor of the hotel he glanced around. Only a few
people were present. Then he glanced into the smoking and reading room.
His heart gave a bound. J. Rutherford Brown was there, smoking
contentedly. He had his feet cocked up on a table and was reading a
newspaper.
Going up to the man from Montana, Hockley tore the newspaper from his
grasp.
“You villain, you!” he cried, wrathfully. “You swindled me!”