ALMOST A BREAK--A NOVEL GAME TO ROB--OUR HERO'S
ARTISTIC ACTING--A TABLEAU AND A GRAND SURPRISE.
Again the sharp fixed his eyes upon our hero, but it was not a
give-away; Desmond was playing his game too well. He appeared like an
excited gambler, an amateur, who apparently believed he had a sure
thing.
"I'll warn you once more," said the sharp.
"To the dogs with your warning, you daren't bet."
"Oh, yes, I dare bet, but I like you; I've a dead sure hand, you can't
beat me."
"That's my lookout."
"Then you know just what you are doing?"
"Yes, I do."
"These men can bear witness that I want to throw up my hand."
"You needn't."
"And you will really bet?"
"Yes, I will."
"With your eyes open?"
"Dead sure."
"All right; what is your raise?"
Desmond gave a lift and the sharp raised back, and so the play went on
until the stake was a thousand dollars on the two hands, and the sharp
said:
"See here, young follow, five hundred is enough for you to lose."
"No, no, I am not losing."
"You ain't?"
"No."
"Suppose you are mistaken."
"I can stand it."
"You can?"
"I can."
"All right; no use for me to attempt to stand against a young fellow
like you. I begin to suspect you've been playing innocent, and I will
teach you a lesson; I raise you a hundred."
"I see it and go two hundred better."
Each time a bet was made the money was laid on the table, and it was a
very exciting scene and moment. The sharp looked puzzled; he had laid
out for a dead sure thing, but there had come a complete change over
Desmond, and it was the latter fact that scared the sharp. He
hesitated, but at length, in a slow tone, said:
"I'll see you a call," and he laid down his cards. He held four jacks, a
great hand, but one that is often beaten, of course, and it was beaten
on this occasion, for, strange to declare, Desmond held four kings.
Right here let us offer an explanation. Our hero was playing against a
false deal; the man who was leading him made the fatal mistake that he
was working with a gudgeon on his hook, consequently he was not
watchful. The wizard tramp had taught Desmond a great many tricks, and
the lad's natural discernment and watchfulness had prepared him for the
hand when the great trick was to be sprung, and unwatched he worked a
bigger trick. He did not know what the hand was he was pitted against,
but he had been let in to gamblers' tricks, that is, "snide" gamblers.
These fellows in making a false deal do not win on the highest hands,
for they always know the hand against them. The fellow who was seeking
to rob Desmond thought he knew our hero's hand, but it was right there
he was fooled. Our hero had worked his own trick, as stated--he stole a
hand so deftly that the unwatchful robbers did not see him do it, and it
was there he had them. He was really taking a slight chance, but only a
slight one, and what followed? Well, it was a case of the biter bitten,
and when Desmond exposed his hand there came a look upon the sharp's
face that can never be described, but which might be photographed with a
snap-shot machine.
There fell a dead stillness in that car for a few seconds, and then the
defeated sharp said:
"Aha! you are a cheat."
"Am I?"
Desmond was perfectly cool.
"Yes, you are, and that money is mine."
"Is it?"
"Oh, see here, young fellow, don't you attempt to bluff me, or I'll mark
you."
As intimated, there had come a great change over Desmond. He did not
look like and he certainly did not act like the same person who a little
time previously had been learning gambling tricks from the sharp. The
gambler attempted to rake the money from the seat, and it was at that
moment the real fun commenced.
"You miserable rascal," cried Desmond, "lay a finger on a bill on that
seat and I'll pin your hand to the car seat."
Well, there was a scene of consternation around there just at that
instant, and our hero said:
"I've been carrying out your programme, amusing myself with a sneak
thief, and now, Mr. Senator's Son, you have evidence that Yorkers do
know a thing or two, and you get yourself together and get out of this
car and off the train at the next station, or I'll make a horse-fly net
of you. Is that plain English? Take your own money, I don't need it. You
are under cover, but let me give you a pointer--you play the senator's
son too well altogether to make a success of it."
The group of gamblers stared in silence. They did not dare make a
hostile move; there was something about Desmond in his transformed
appearance that froze them--indeed, even his youth was a mystery to
them, for he acted like a man who had had years of experience.
"You started in, gentlemen, to play a big game of robbery, but ran up
against a snag. I am letting you off easy--very easy--but you see we
young fellows from York are not malicious."
The gamblers had indeed gotten off easily, and we will here explain that
they did not fear Desmond in a scrimage; but they would have feared any
one who would have made a fight, as they did not wish to draw the
attention of the train men to their scheme which had been exposed. Had
they been winners they would have made a fight, but the game they were
attempting was one of highway robbery, for they had been outwitted in
the deal, and had no claim upon the money.
The train arrived at a station and the gamblers started to alight. They
felt bitter, and the self-styled senator's son said to Desmond:
"The train will stop here fifteen minutes. You are a good fellow, I like
you, I'd like to have you stop off a minute and have a cool drink with
us."
Desmond well knew the scoundrel's purpose, but being fond of adventure
he determined to give the rascals a still greater surprise. He was in
splendid condition, his muscles were developed up to the consistency of
whit-leather, and with a smile he rose to follow the man who had invited
him to alight for refreshment. The gambler stepped off the car ahead of
Desmond; the latter followed, when the former suddenly swung round and
made a vicious lunge at the youth who had so cleverly outwitted him, and
once again the scamp was outwitted. A second time he ran up against a
snag, for our hero dodged the blow that was meant for him and countered
with a tremendous slugger which landed on his assailant's nose, and over
the man fell with a swiftness that would have suggested the kick of a
horse, and when he fell he lay there; but two of the other chaps had in
the meantime made a rush for Desmond, and they received a rap
successively--indeed, they had run in on our young walking champion
where he was at home. He was a wonder in science, strength and agility;
no two or three ordinary men would have had any show with him at all,
and the fact was the assailants so determined, for the attack was not
renewed, and our hero stepped aboard the train, the object of the
wondering glances of twenty people who had witnessed the assault and
its culmination.
Desmond sat down in the car as coolly as though he had just gone out for
a breath of fresh air.
Our hero encountered several other adventures of a minor character, but
in good time arrived in New York City. He had not announced his return
to the farm, and consequently spent several days in the all-round
greatest city in the world. There is no place like old New York; there
is more life to be seen in the great American metropolis in one day than
can be seen in any other great capital in two. It is a city peculiar to
itself, unlike any other, in its situation between two rivers and its
nose practically putting out to the sea; in its activities and general
loveliness--indeed, it in a wonderful place, and Desmond enjoyed every
minute during his sojourn, but at length he took a train up-country and
in due time arrived at the station from which he was to team it to the
old farm where his grandfather and father had lived and died.
As stated, Desmond had not announced his return, and when within a mile
of the farm he alighted from the wagon that had carried him over and
started afoot. It was late in the afternoon when he arrived in sight of
the old farm, and he was standing on a rise of ground looking over
toward his old home, when he espied a girl sitting beneath a tree. One
glance was sufficient; he recognized Amy, and he determined to steal
upon her unawares. He managed to gain a clump of bushes located within
twenty feet of where the girl sat, and he had an opportunity to study
her unobserved. We will not describe his emotions, but it was a
beautiful sight that fell under his delighted gaze. The life on the farm
had been of great advantage to Amy in many ways, and in her white muslin
dress she appeared so beautiful as to make it seem that she was out of
place in that wild region. Her form was perfect in its grace, and her
face--well, we will not go into a description, but let it suffice to say
that there are few girls in all the world who surpass her in the
exquisite loveliness of her face.
Desmond studied the girl for a long time and he observed that she
appeared to be perfectly contented and happy. She had her mandolin with
her, and after quite a period of abstraction she took up her instrument,
and soon her splendid voice sounded clear and melodious on the still
air, for it was an afternoon when nature rested under a spell, as it
were; not a breath of air appeared to float amid the leaves and flowers.
A moment, and our hero made the most delightful discovery of his life.
Amy was singing and improvising; she did it readily and charmingly, and
her hidden auditor was indeed charmed. She was singing to an absent one,
and she mingled the name of our hero in her song. It was a plea for the
absent one to return, and the sweetness of the melody was not more
entrancing than the verses. She appeared to be not only a singer but a
poetess, possessed of rare talent.
Desmond did not appear inclined to break the spell, but when he saw Amy
making preparations to depart he stepped from his place of concealment.
The girl uttered a cry; at the first glance she did not recognize the
farmer boy, transformed as he was into a gentleman in dress, but when
she caught sight of his face and heard his merry laugh and pleasant
salutation, she exclaimed:
"Oh, Desmond, I did not know you at first. How elegant you look!"
"Thank you; how is my mother?"
"She is well, but did not know you were coming home; neither did I."
"Well, no, I thought I would give you a surprise. It's all right, here I
am, this side up with care."
"Your mother will be delighted."
"And you?"
"I am giddy with delight, and I hope all is well with you and with my--"
The girl stopped short and said, "Mr. Brooks."
"Yes, when I left him he was all right."
"Did he come with you?"
"No, he remained behind to transact some business; and, Amy, if you are
surprised to see me looking so elegant, as you say, you would be more
surprised did you behold at this moment your--I mean Mr. Brooks."
A shadow flitted across the girl's face, but it was succeeded a moment
later by a bright smile, as she said:
"Oh, I am so happy, I was never happier in my whole life."
"And what makes you so happy?"
The question was put abruptly.