"Just top you. Mine's eight high. You had me scared, and if you'd have
more money and bet me after the draw I don't think I call."
That might have been true, but it offered no consolation to Bodney.
"Just my luck," he said.
"When a man gets them sort of hands beaten he's got to lose his money,"
said the "look-out." "There's nothing to it." A man standing near was
waiting for Bodney's seat. He shoved back and was about to get up,
pursuant upon the resolution which he had formed when, it occurred to
him, as it always does, that with ten more he could win back the ten
just lost. It was simply an accident that the fellow held over him. He
would try ten more. His luck was gone, but he expected every moment to
see it return. He opened a pot on aces and tens. A fool stayed on
deuces, caught his third, and slaughtered him. He bought ten more. His
spirits were heavy and he sighed distressfully. It was not the loss of
the money; it was the harassing sense of being beaten. He opened
another pot on queens up. One of the regulars raised him. He began to
reason. "He would raise it on two pairs smaller than queens up. I saw
him raise just now on sevens up. I'll stand it." He put in his money
and drew one card. The regular drew one. The prospect was not bright,
still it was not so bad. He did not help. He bet a white chip; the
regular raised him three dollars and he called. Then the regular had
recourse to a joke, new to Bodney, but old to the game. "I have the
waiter's delight," said he.
"The what?"
"The waiter's delight," and he spread a tray full.
At ten o'clock, Bodney's capital, including the reserve fund, amounted
to twenty dollars. "You beat me every time," he said, to an offensive
fellow who sat opposite. It was the stranger with whom he had laughed
early in the game.
"That's what I'm here for."
"That's all right. I'll get you yet."
He won several pots, and then opened a double pot for five dollars. He
had a king high flush, and he intended the heavy opening to operate as a
reverse bluff, to argue a small hand. The offensive fellow stayed and
drew one card. He made a small full and Bodney felt his heart stop
beating. At eleven o'clock he had simply the five dollar reserve fund.
And he saw it melt away--saw his last chip go in. He drew, having a
show for the pot, and made jacks up. The opener had queens up. Heavy
of heart, Bodney went down the stairs. He cursed himself for playing
after dinner. "If I only had ten dollars I might win it all back," he
mused. "They can't possibly beat me all the time. I played as good
cards as anybody. I wonder where I can get ten dollars. Everybody that
knows me has gone home by now. Let me see. I know a fellow over at
that drug store. But I've forgotten his name. Wonder if he'd let me
have ten. I'll try him." He went into the drug store, saw the man
standing behind the counter, walked up, reached over and shook hands
with him.
"How's everything?" Bodney asked.
[Illustration: "How's everything?" Bodney asked.]
"Oh, pretty fair. How is it with you?"
"All right. Say, old man, a college chum of mine, devilish good fellow,
came in just now on a train and happened to catch me at the office--"
"Yes?" said the druggist, looking at him.
"Yes, and the fact is, he got here broke and has called on me to help
him out. He's a devilish good fellow, and I don't exactly know what to
do. Every one I know has gone home, and--could you let me have ten till
tomorrow? You can count on it then."
"Oh, I guess so, but I'm rather short."
"I'll give it to you tomorrow without fail."
He went out with a ten dollar note crumpled in his hand. A man may fail
to get rent money, clothes money, bread money; he may meet with
obstacles that he cannot overcome; his self-respect withholds him from
asking favors of certain men. But the fool in hot quest of poker money
knows no self-respect, recognizes no embarrassments that might stand in
modesty's way. Bodney bounded up the stairs, afraid that the game might
have broken up. Panting and tremulous, he pressed the electric button.
A negro porter pulled aside a blue curtain, peeped through the glass and
opened the door. The game had not broken up. Every seat was taken, the
regulars, with chips stacked high before them, the "suckers" squirming
with "short money." How dull and spiritless everything had looked when
Bodney went out, and now how bright it all was, the carpet, the window
curtains, the pictures on the walls. The room was large, affording
ample space for a meditative walk up and down, and as he was too nervous
to sit still, he walked.
"Think there'll be a seat pretty soon?" he asked of the man at the desk.
"Very soon, I think. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Have a
cigar." He lighted the cigar and resumed his walk. Passing the table
he saw a man in the death throes of a "show-down." Some one had opened
a pot and he had been compelled to stay. Bodney eagerly watched the
draw. The opener drew one card. The "show-down" man had to draw four,
presumably to an ace. This was encouraging to Bodney. He was the next
in line; he would get the seat. He leaned forward to catch the result.
The opener had tens up. The four-card draw yielded a better crop, aces
up, and with a sense of disappointment and injury Bodney resumed his
walk. But pretty soon a man cashed in, and the young lawyer bought five
dollars worth of chips, and took his seat. He won the first pot, the
second and the third, but without stayers. Surely his luck had
returned. Again he felt a current of pleasure flowing through his mind.
He laughed at a stale joke. It had never sounded so well before. A
man, the offensive fellow, now quite a gentleman, began to tell a story,
and Bodney encouraged him with a smile. "I knew a man once, a preacher,
by the way," said he, "who got into the habit of playing faro; I guess
he must have played before he began to preach, and found that he
couldn't quit. Some fellow that was kin to him croaked, and left him a
lot of money. Then he knew he wouldn't play any more. Well, one day he
went by the bank where he had his money, and pretty soon he says to
himself: 'Believe I'll draw out just a small sum and try my luck once
more--just once.' Well, he kept drawing on that money till it is all
gone. Nothing to it, you know. Then one night he gets down on his
knees and prays. 'Lord,' says he, 'if I ever play again I hope you'll
make me lose.'"
"Did he play again?" Bodney asked.
"Yes; he keep right on."
"And did he lose?"
"No. He coppers his bets."
Bodney was immensely tickled at the idea of the fellow "coppering" his
bets to offset the influence of the Deity, and he laughed uproariously,
but just then he lost a pot, and his mirth fell dead. And after this
every time he opened a pot someone would raise him. After a while he
dragged out his last five dollars and invested in chips. Then he sank
into the condition known as "sifting," anteing and never getting a pair.
Behind him stood a man waiting for his seat. He saw his last chip melt
away and he got up, so heavy that he could hardly stand. The fellow who
had told the story, and to whom Bodney had paid the tribute of most
generous laughter, dealt the cards and skipped Bodney without even
looking at him. But Bodney looked at him, and how offensive he was.
"I'd like to cut his infamous throat," he mused. Down the stairs again
he went, heavier and more desperate than before. It was now past
midnight. "Now what?" he said, halting on a corner and wiping his hot
face. "I don't know what to do, but I almost know I could win out if I
had ten more. But I don't know where to get it. There's no use to look
for Goyle. I wonder if that fellow at the drug store would let me have
another ten. I'll go and see." He crossed over, went into the drug
store, and asked the squirter of soda water if his friend was there.
No, he had gone home. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Well, I don't know. By the way, you've seen me in here a number of
times, haven't you?"
"Oh, yes. And I used to see you over at the other place."
"Yes, I remember, now. And your name is--"
"Watkins."
"Yes, that's a fact. I remember you now. How are you getting along,
Watkins?"
"All right."
"Yes, sir, I used to know you," said Bodney. "And I guess you are about
the best in your line."