men lived in their own houses, and their wives visited one another
and had their small festivities from time to time in the most serene
indifference to the fact that there were other human beings around.
And these others--that is, the unmarried men--lived at the tavern,
or hotel, as we preferred to call it, equally indifferent to the
occurrence of social functions to which we were not bidden. If, as
occasionally happened, one of the married men broke loose for a night
or two, and spent his spare time and money at the hotel, he was
tolerated, but no more. We felt sorry for him when we thought of his
return home, but we had no yearnings toward reciprocity in his effort
to break down the barriers.
“In our set there was, it is true, one married woman, but she did
not count. At least we thought so till the trouble came. She was the
landlord’s wife. Old Stein, as we called him, though he was not over
forty, was a placid, easy-going German, who kept the hotel fairly up
to the standard of the country, and I think a trifle above it, but
he hadn’t energy enough, apparently, to make any strenuous effort to
improve things. What was good enough for his boarders was good enough
for him, and we were demoralized enough by the climate, or whatever
it is that tends to the deterioration of mankind thereabout, to make
no demand for unusual luxury. As far as we ever noticed, he had no
remarkable affection for his wife, but seemed rather too indifferent to
her very pronounced hunger for admiration.
“She was a born flirt, but though she carried her flirtations with
anybody who would flirt with her, much nearer to the danger line than
would be tolerated in a more strait-laced community, it was the general
opinion among the boarders that there was no real evil in her, and,
moreover, that she was fully capable of taking care of herself in
almost any emergency. So, though she would not have been recognized as
respectable by any other married woman in town, a fact that troubled
her not, she was considered all right by our set, and we looked upon
her as a good fellow rather than as a woman bound by the ordinary
rules of propriety. She was a German by descent, and Stein was German
by birth, but Lena was perhaps too thoroughly Americanized in a poor
school.
“Naturally trouble came of it. We were accustomed, as the people in
most small Western towns were accustomed some years ago, to receiving
occasionally a visit from what we used to call a ‘cross-roads gambler.’
These worthies are perhaps the least useful and most ‘ornery’ specimens
of humanity to be found in North America. They are professionals
without the skill or nerve they need to enable them to hold their own
among other professionals. Knowing just enough to cheat, but not enough
to cheat deftly, they travel about the country, usually alone, but
sometimes in pairs, stopping in the smallest settlements for a day or
a week at a time, looking for victims. No game is too small for them,
though they will play heavily at times, but they manage to live on
their little skill by worming their way into friendly games of poker,
such as are played all over the country, but perhaps more openly in the
West than in the East.
“When Dick Bradley happened along our way and stopped over at our town,
we had, though we did not realize it immediately, all the elements of
a drama right at hand. It was not long before the drama was enacted,
and perhaps it was just as well that we were not a little farther West,
for there might have been considerable shooting in the last act. As it
was we had a duel, but that was fought with the pasteboards instead
of revolvers, and the difference was supposed to be settled by a
freeze-out in the great American game.
“Bradley was an ordinary cross-roads gambler, and nothing more. He was
a little handsomer than the usual run of men, and he dressed rather
better than custom demanded in that part of the country. Moreover,
he had a free-and-easy way with him--it was a part of his stock in
trade--that was attractive to anybody, and I suppose especially so to
a woman like Lena. At all events he hadn’t been with us twenty-four
hours before there was a violent flirtation going on between the two.
We all considered that natural enough, and supposing we knew the
woman thoroughly well, we thought no harm of it at first. Stein took
no notice of it apparently, and as it was a matter that concerned no
one else so closely as it did him, none of us felt called on to say
anything.
“Somewhat to our surprise, however, Bradley stayed on for more than
a week. It wasn’t his regular business that kept him, for though we
played poker every night, as a matter of course, in the back room of
the hotel, and though he got into the game, equally as a matter of
course, he didn’t make enough out of it to make it an object to stay.
There were some of us who understood the game and the ordinary tricks
of crooked players as well as he did, and he was not long in finding
out that he had to play square if he played at all. So, as we never
played for big money, the prospect was a poor one for him. Still he
stayed. After a few days we all, excepting Stein, began to see that
he was staying entirely on Lena’s account. He was a bit cautious at
first; more so than she was, but seeing that Stein made no objection
to anything she did, but gave her a perfectly free foot, the gambler
grew bolder and bolder, until there was no longer any possibility of
remaining blind to the fact that a scandal impended. Some of us talked
it over very quietly and carefully, but it was agreed that no one
ought to interfere, since Stein did not see fit to do so.
“We had begun to think that Stein was absolutely indifferent and to
regard him with considerable contempt, when one evening he undeceived
us, and gave us a great surprise by his manner of doing it. It was
early in the evening, and, though we had gathered--perhaps a dozen of
us--in the card-room, we had not yet begun playing when Stein came
in, and, after fidgeting around for a minute or two in a manner quite
unlike his usual phlegmatic way, spoke suddenly to Bradley.
“‘Look here, Bradley,’ he said in his broken English, ‘I must settle
things with you. I have talked things with my wife, Lena, already, and
she says she will go away with you. If she goes this world is no good
to me any more, and you and I must settle if she goes or if she stays.
I would kill you, but it would be foolishness to try that, for I am
not a fighting man and you always carry your gun. Now, what shall we
do? Will you go away and leave me my Lena, or will she go with you?’
“The poor Dutchman seemed not to understand in the least what an
amazing sort of a speech this was. His voice trembled with his strong
emotion, and there were tears in his eyes. The rest of us were struck
dumb. I don’t know what the other fellows thought, but I know that
there came to me a sort of hungry longing to organize a tar-and-feather
party, with Dick Bradley as the principal guest. And, despite my
contemptuous pity for the husband who showed so little manhood, I made
up my mind that there was going to be fair play, anyhow.
“Bradley was fairly staggered. He flushed and stammered, and, I think,
was for a moment about to say that he would go; but he pulled himself
together, and seemed to remember that as a bad man he had a reputation
to sustain. At length he said:
“‘It’s pretty hard to tell what to do, Stein. I’d be willing to fight
you for the woman if you wanted to do that, but, as you don’t, I
suppose she’d better settle it herself.’
“‘No,’ said the landlord. ‘She is foolish with you now, and she would
have no sense about it. You and I will settle it now. And what will you
do? Will you go away and leave us?’
“Bradley looked around, as if to see what the crowd thought about it,
and perceiving at a glance that our sympathies were all with the other
man, he replied:
“‘Well, if you won’t fight, supposing we settle it with the cards. I’ll
play you a freeze-out, $1,000 against your wife. What do you say?’
“‘I say no,’ said Stein again, and we began almost to respect him.
‘I will not play my wife against your money, but I will play you a
freeze-out for $1,000, my money against yours, and if you lose, you
will go away. And if I lose, I will go away, and she may do what she
likes. Only you will play a square game.’
“‘You bet, by ----, it’ll be a square game,’ said Jack Peters, the
biggest man and the best card player in the party. ‘I don’t like your
proposition, but that’s your business and not mine. But if you’re going
to play, Stein, you may be perfectly sure that Bradley won’t try any
cross-roads tricks in this freeze-out.’
“Bradley seated himself at the card table and said: ‘Get out your
cards.’ At the same time he pulled out his wad and counted off the
thousand. Stein got the cards and chips, and each man taking chips to
represent his pile, the money was laid at one side. It did not seem
like an even contest, for Stein was not a good player. I was delighted
to notice, however, after they were fairly well going, that Stein was
the cooler of the two. Bradley, I suppose, was a bit rattled by the
consciousness that we were watching his play suspiciously.
“Bradley tried at first to force the play, and once or twice caught
Stein for considerable money, but the game went on for perhaps twenty
minutes without anything like a decisive result. Suddenly, as Stein was
about to cut the cards, Jack Peters exclaimed:
“‘Shuffle ’em, Stein!’
“‘Can’t Stein play his own game?’ asked Bradley.
“‘I reckon he can,’ said Peters, ‘but in case the cards should happen
to be stacked against him, and I found it out, there’d be a lynching
right here in this town to-night. I don’t want that to happen, so I
thought I’d make sure.’
“It was an unfair trick, for Bradley had not stacked the cards. He
hadn’t dared to. But Peters told me afterward that he did it to ‘throw
a scare’ into Bradley if he could. He succeeded, for the gambler lost
his nerve when he looked around once more, while Stein remained as cool
as before. He nodded and shuffled the cards and the game went on.
“The end came suddenly. It was a flush against a full, and Stein held
the full and swept the board. There was a moment’s silence, and then
Bradley said with a short laugh:
“‘Well, I’ve lost, and I’ll leave town on the morning train. That’ll
do, I suppose, won’t it?’
“‘Yes, that’ll do,’ said Stein, gravely. He had won in the outrageous
contest, and I expected to see him greatly elated, but instead he
seemed curiously depressed. And as the situation was decidedly
embarrassing for all hands we went to bed uncommonly early that night,
so that everybody was up in time next morning to see Bradley go on the
early train as he had agreed to do.”
“Well, yes,” said the gray-haired young-looking man, in answer to a
question, “that is the end of the story, as far as the poker part of it
goes. Of course there was this sequel. It was inevitable, I suppose.
Lena followed Bradley a day or two afterward, and Stein drank himself
to death.”
The Club’s Last Game
_IT TAUGHT AN INTERESTING MORAL ABOUT RAISING THE LIMIT_
“It is sometimes hard to draw the line between a professional
gambler and another,” said the gray-haired young-looking man in
the club smoking-room. “And even if you do succeed in making the
distinction clear, the comparison isn’t always to the detriment of the
professional. I remember an instance in a poker club to which I once
belonged, which was interesting enough, though it pointed no particular
moral that I know of, unless it was by renewing the old doubt whether
the devil is always as black as he is painted.
“Our club was rather a curious one in some respects, though we did not
realize it at the time. It began with a little game in one of the
New England cities where you have to keep very quiet about your card
playing unless you don’t give a rap for your standing in the business
community, to say nothing of your social position. I don’t know that
people are so very much better in such communities than they are
elsewhere, but there is a sort of general bluff made by common consent
that shuts out open and flagrant offenders from companionship with
those who have more regard for ‘the speech of people.’
“There were six of us in the party that used to meet every Saturday
night at one another’s rooms, and it was as pleasant and harmonious a
circle as I ever joined. We were all young business men, unmarried and
prosperous, and all of excellent standing at that time. There was never
a quarrel among us, in all our play, and for a long time the play was
never heavy enough to hurt even the worst loser. It was almost always
a fifty-cent limit, though we would often disregard the limit in the
single round of consolation jack-pots with which we concluded every
evening’s play.
“One of the number, whom I will call George, for I can’t give surnames
in this story, because it is a true one, was transferred by the
railroad company for which he worked to another city, forty odd miles
away. Then Harry had an offer of a situation in a large wholesale
house in another direction, and sold out his business to accept it.
Eli married a rich girl in still another place, and he moved away,
leaving only three of us in the same town, yet the Saturday evening
games went on almost without interruption. Eli was, naturally enough,
oftenest absent, but George and Harry would come in by rail, so that
we always had four and almost always five at the table. Of course, as
the old friendship was as warm as ever, we enjoyed the reunions even
more keenly than we had. After a time the play grew harder. The limit
was usually $2, and occasionally as high as $5, while it was lifted off
altogether in the consolation pots, so that it was not unusual for one
or two of us to be several hundred dollars ahead or behind at the end
of the evening.
“Things went on this way for perhaps a couple of years before the smash
came, and while some of us were not specially harmed by it, there is no
doubt that our club did work serious mischief to at least two of the
party. We didn’t know about it until afterward, but it was true that
Harry had become so infatuated with cards that he had neglected his
business and had lost his situation in the wholesale house, and then,
instead of trying to get employment elsewhere, had devoted himself
entirely to gambling, and had become a full-fledged professional. None
of us had happened to learn of his discharge, and as he said nothing
to us about it, we never suspected the truth till we learned it very
strangely. He continued meeting with us, as usual, and in our company,
at least, he never played anything but a straight game.
“As for George, we did know that he was playing a great deal, aside
from his games with us, for he told us about it and we knew to our
sorrow that he was particularly unlucky. He had some means, outside
of his very good salary, so we didn’t suspect that he was financially
involved. We did know, however, that he played in the heaviest games
he could get into, and on more than one occasion he traveled two or
three hundred miles in order to sit in at some game that he would
hear of, where the stakes were likely to be unusually large. The
railroad company kept him on the go a good part of the time, so he was
able to manage this without really neglecting his work, and if the
officials of the road had learned of his gambling habits they either
underestimated the importance of them or they valued George’s services
very highly, for he was promoted, not once, but two or three times. We
therefore had a professional among us without knowing it, and another
man who was playing further beyond his limit than we dreamed of, and
still our little game went on, as pleasantly and serenely as if we were
not drifting into a tragedy.
“One particular summer night we had a full table. Each one of the six
was there, and all seemed unusually gay. The game was a good one, too,
for the cards ran high and the luck ran from one to the other most
delightfully. We started with the usual two-dollar limit, but it was
broken two or three times without any remonstrance, so that after a
couple of hours we were playing without any limit. Bets of $10 and
even $20 were made frequently, and several times there was $100 in a
jack-pot before cards were drawn.
“Eli had to go home by a train that went through about 1:30 o’clock,
so the consolation pots were played a little before one. We had been
playing about four hours then, and the luck had been running against
George for half an hour. It was affecting him, too, and instead of
waiting for a turn he had been trying to force it, so that he was
considerably dipped, and I for one was hoping that he would recoup in
one or two pots in the last round. He didn’t, though. On the contrary,
he came into each of the first five, standing all the raises before the
draw, and drawing to one card, on the chance of getting an accidental
hand. It was wretchedly poor play, of course, but he was trying
desperately to force the luck.
“On the last deal I thought he had a chance, for he opened the pot for
$20. It had gone around for three or four deals, so it was a good pot
to start with, and after it was opened it grew rapidly. We all came in,
and Harry raised it ten. George went back at him with twenty more, and
we all came in.
“On the draw George took two cards, Harry two, and Eli one. The rest
of us took three each, but as none of us bettered his pair, we dropped
our cards, leaving the three to fight it out. George bet fifty, and
Eli, who sat next, raised it fifty. Harry came in and raised it ten.
It looked a little queer, but I remembered then that Harry had been
playing more moderately than any of the rest of us all the evening.
George put up fifty more, and Eli made good. He had filled a small
flush, but sitting between two raisers he didn’t care to play too hard
on it. Harry raised it ten again, and George showed his excitement
plainly.
“‘A hundred better,’ he almost shouted, putting up the money.
“Eli laid his hand on the table, but Harry put up a hundred and ten.
“‘Another hundred,’ said George, now fairly trembling.
“‘Ten more,’ said Harry, as cool as ever.
“‘Five hundred better,’ exclaimed George.
“‘Ten more.’
“‘A thousand better,’ said George, and Harry hesitated.
“‘I have you beaten, George,’ he said, after a moment, ‘but I don’t
want to play any higher. This is getting altogether too heavy for our
party. I’ll call you.’
“‘It isn’t too heavy for me,’ said George, almost insultingly. ‘I’ll go
you another thousand on my hand if you will stand it.’
“‘No,’ said Harry, still as cool as possible. ‘I won’t go any higher. I
have called you.’
“George laid down an ace full, and looked with confident expectation
to see Harry surrender, but instead he showed down four eights. ‘I was
pretty sure,’ he said quietly.
“George’s face turned white, and we all saw that he was hard hit,
though we didn’t suspect even then that it was so serious as it was.
“‘I’ll have to give you a check for that last thousand,’ he said,
faltering, for he had not put up the money on the last bet. We had
always settled up before separating at night, but it was not unusual
for checks to pass among us, though we had never had so much money up
before.
“‘That’s all right,’ said Harry, and to my surprise his voice trembled
when he spoke. ‘The fact is,’ he continued after he had swallowed once
or twice in the effort to get control of himself--‘the fact is, I’m not
going to take your money, George. I have been playing this game for
fun, and I don’t think I was doing you fellows any harm by playing with
you, for I have always played square, and I’ve never taken any of your
money to speak of; but the fact is, I have been a professional gambler
for a year past, and I have been sailing under false colors. I don’t
say that I wouldn’t do that anywhere else, but I wouldn’t do it among
my old friends. Take back your money, George. I don’t believe you can
afford to lose it, and I wouldn’t take it if you could.’
“This was sufficiently surprising, but what George said was even more
so, to the rest of us, for we knew that he wasn’t above playing with
professionals elsewhere.
“‘I wouldn’t take it back,’ he said with a sneer, ‘if the game had been
above board, but if, as you say, you have been sailing under false
colors, I think I can take it without any loss of self-respect.’ And
he pocketed the money which Harry pushed over to him, after deducting
what he himself had put in.
“It was the last game we ever played together, and we broke up with a
feeling of constraint that we had never had before. Our good-nights
were said in the usual words, but the tone was that of curious
embarrassment. We could not feel the same toward either of the two, but
I think we all felt far more respect for Harry than we did for George.
“I am quite sure we all did after we read in the papers two weeks
later that George had absconded with a considerable amount of the
company’s money. It appeared from the published accounts that he had
been a defaulter for some months, though he had concealed the fact by
falsifying his books, so that he was really playing with stolen money
when he pretended a superiority to Harry.
“I never saw either of the two men again, and as I tell you, we never
had another meeting of the club. As for me, I have never played poker
since for any considerable stakes. When the game gets so large that it
is a question of money instead of the fun of the game itself, I always
drop out.”
Press of J. J. Little & Co.
Astor Place, New York
Transcriber’s Notes
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
Transcriber removed duplicate chapter headings.
The floral decoration on the Title page represents a similar but angled
decoration in the original book.