MR. WALLINGFORD GAMBLES A BIT AND PICKS UP AN UNSOLICITED PARTNER
In the smart carriage Mr. Wallingford took Mr. Nickel and his two
friends down to his hotel for lunch to talk over the final steps in the
great consolidation. The chief thing the three remembered when they left
the hotel was that they had been most liberally treated in the matter of
extravagant food and drink, and that the lunch had cost over twenty
dollars! Also they recalled that the distinguished-looking head waiter
had come over to their table half a dozen times to see that everything
was served at the proper minute and in the pink of condition. Nobody but
a rich man could command that sort of attention, and they left the table
not only willing but thankful to take any business tonic this commercial
genius should prescribe. As they passed the desk, the manager called Mr.
Wallingford to him, and the great promoter, instantly bidding his
friends good-by, promised to see them to-morrow. Then he walked back to
the manager.
"Good morning, Senator," said that official, shaking hands. "How are
they treating you? Nicely?"
"Very well, indeed," replied Wallingford, "except I'd like to have
corner rooms if I could get them."
"I know; you spoke of that last week. I've been trying to secure them
for you, but those apartments are always dated so far ahead. I think the
corner suite on the second floor will be vacant in a day or so, though,
and I'll let you know. By the way, Mr. Wallingford"--this in the most
pleasantly confidential tone imaginable--"I'm afraid I'll have to draw
on you. The proprietor is a little strict about his rules, and you have
been here two weeks to-day."
"Is that so?" exclaimed Wallingford, very much surprised. "I'll have to
look after that," and he reached out his hand with courteous alacrity
for the bill which the manager was handing to him. Without the quiver of
an eye-lash he glanced over the items and stuck the bill in his pocket.
"I'm glad you spoke of it. I'm rather careless about such matters," and
he walked away in perfect nonchalance.
The telegraph desk mocked him. There was not a soul he knew to whom he
could wire with a certainty of getting money, and if he pretended to
wire he must certainly produce quick results. Instead of making that
error he walked out upon the street briskly. Half way to Ed Nickel's
cigar store he paused. Mr. Nickel was not yet ripe, and it would be
folly to waste his chances. Thinking most deeply indeed, he strolled
into a cigar store of far better appearance than any he had yet visited.
The place was a-quiver with life; there was much glitter of beveled
plate mirrors; there were expensive light fixtures; the shelves were
crowded with rows upon rows of cigar boxes, and at a most ornate case
stood three rather strikingly dressed men, playing "ping pong" on a
mahogany edged board that was covered with green baize. He had seen
these boards before, but they were all set away behind counters, for
this game--of dice, not of balls and paddles--was strictly taboo. A
moral wave had swept over the town and had made dice shaking for cigars,
as well as every other form of gambling, next door to a hanging offense.
A heavy-set young fellow, with a red face and a red tie and red stripes
in the thread of his broad-checked clothing, was at the end of the
counter, half behind it, scoring the game. He was evidently the
proprietor, though he had his hat on, and he asked Wallingford what he
wanted.
"I don't know your brands, so I'll leave it to you," said the large man,
with a pleasant smile. "I want a nice three for a half, rather heavy,
but not too tightly rolled."
The proprietor gave his customer a shrewd "sizing-up," as he promptly
set out three boxes of different brands. Evidently the general
appearance of Wallingford satisfied him that the man asked for this
grade of cigars because he liked them and could afford them, for after
the selection had been made the salesman observed that it was quite
pleasant weather, looking Wallingford squarely in the eyes and smiling
in sheer goodfellowship with all the world. He then renewed his
attention to the "ping pong" game, and Wallingford, aimless for the time
and occupied with that tremendous puzzle of the hotel bill, stood by and
watched. A policeman came through, but no one paid any attention.
"Hello, Joe!" he said affably to the man in charge, and passed on into
the back room. As the door of this was opened the sharp click of ivory
chips came through, and Wallingford heard one strident voice say, "I'll
raise you ten." A brisk and gimlet-eyed young man came out a moment
later with a fifty-dollar bill, for which he got change.
"How you making it, Tommy?" he asked perfunctorily of one of the men who
were shaking dice.
"Rotten!" said the dice shaker. "I've won ten two-for-a-quarter cigars
that have cost me four dollars."
"I'd blow the game," advised the young man with a bantering laugh.
"Shoot somebody for the four and quit double or even."
"I'll do it," said the man addressed as Tommy. "Fade me, Joe?"
"Any amount, old man," said the proprietor nonchalantly, and taking four
dollars from the cash register he left the drawer open. "How do you want
to be skinned?"
"First-flop poker dice," said Tommy, picking up the leather box which
Joe had slammed upon the board, and rattling the five dice in it.
One turn apiece and the proprietor picked up the money. Tommy silently
threw a five on the case.
"You other fellows want in on this?" he asked.
J. Rufus suddenly felt that mysterious thing called a "hunch" prickling
in his wrist.
"How about letting a stranger in?" he observed, considering himself far
enough west for this forwardness.
With a smile he made ready for that lightning glance of judgment which
he knew would be leveled at him from three pairs of eyes at least.
"I'd rather anybody would have my money than Joe," said the man next to
him, after that brief but pleased inspection and after an almost
imperceptible nod from the proprietor. "Joe's a robber and we none of us
like him."
"I don't think I like him very well myself," laughed Wallingford,
throwing down his money, and, having accepted him, they judged him again
from this new angle. He was a most likeable man, this big fellow, and an
open-handed sport. Anybody could see that. It would make no difference
to him whether he won or lost. All he wanted was to be in on the game.
Rich as the mint, no doubt.
In reality J. Rufus had but three five dollar bills in his pocket, but
desperate needs require desperate remedies, and, in view of those vast
needs, if he lost he would be but little worse off than he was now.
Twice he staked his last five, and then luck steadily alternated between
him and the proprietor. One at a time the three others dropped out, and
the two winners were left confronting each other.
"Well, old man," said the proprietor to Wallingford, shaking the box up
and down while he talked, and smiling his challenge, "we split 'em about
even. Shall we quit satisfied, or shoot it off to see who owns the best
rabbit's foot?"
Wallingford glanced down at the crumpled pile of greenbacks in front of
him and made a hasty computation. He was sure that he had fully two
hundred dollars, but he could not in decency quit now.
"I never saw a finer afternoon for a murder in my life," he declared.
"Shoot you fifty," said Joe.
In for it, Wallingford covered the bet, and by this time a throng of
interested spectators was at his elbows. It was Wallingford's first
throw, and four aces tumbled up. His opponent followed him with fours,
but they were four sixes.
"Cover the hundred and be a real sport," advised Wallingford with a
grin.
Joe counted the money in front of him. There was enough to cover the
bet, with a ten-dollar bill left over. He threw down the pile.
"I'll press it ten," said he, and Wallingford promptly added a ten from
his own stack.
Four aces again. Again the man who was called Joe threw four sixes.
"I'll just leave that bundle of lettuce once more," observed J. Rufus.
"I've a hunch that you'll be sorry you saw me."
"I'm sorry now," admitted the other, "but I'll skin the money drawer
rather than have you go away dissatisfied," and from the cash register
he took two hundred and twenty dollars. "Now shoot your head off," he
advised.
Wallingford, in perfect confidence, rattled the box high in the air and
tossed the five little ivory cubes upon the baize; and a dash of cold
water fell on his confidence. A single, small, lonely, ashamed-looking
pair of deuces confronted him.
"Here's where we get it all-l-l-l-l back again," laughed Joe in much
joy. "Somebody call the porter to throw this stranger out when I get
through," and with a crash he dumped the box upside down, lifting it
with a sweep. The dice rattled about the board, and when they had all
settled down he leaned over to count them. There was a moment of silence
and then everybody laughed. There was not even a pair. Wallingford's
miserable two deuces had won a two-hundred-and-forty-dollar pot. Gently
he leaned over.
"How much of this spinach would you like to cover now?" he asked in
soothing tones.
"Wait till I ask the safe," replied his antagonist, but at that moment
the telephone bell just behind him rang and he turned to answer it. With
almost the first words that he heard he looked at his watch and swore,
and when he had hung up the receiver he turned to Wallingford briskly.
"Afraid I'll have to let you carry that bundle of kale for a while," he
grudgingly admitted, "for I have to hurry over to the court or lose more
than there is in sight right here. But for heaven's sake, man, remember
the number and bring that back to me. I want it."
"Thanks," said J. Rufus. "If there's any left after I get through with
it I'll bring it back," and he walked out, the admired of all beholders.
He headed straight for a bank, where he exchanged his crumpled money
into nice, crisp, fifty-dollar bills, and then with profound
satisfaction he strolled into his hotel and threw two hundred dollars in
front of the manager. The circumstance, however, was worth more than
money to him. It meant a renewal of his confidence. The world was once
more his oyster.
That evening, just as he had finished a late dinner, a boy brought a
card to him in the dining room; "Mr. Joseph O. Meers."
"Meers!" read Wallingford to his wife. "That isn't one of the men I had
to lunch, and besides, none of that bunch would have an engraved card.
Where is he?" he asked the boy.
"Out in the lobby, sir."
Wallingford arose and went with the boy. Sitting in one of the big
chairs was the "Joe" from whom he had won the money that afternoon, and
the man began to laugh as soon as he saw J. Rufus.
"So _you're_ Wallingford!" he said, extending his hand. "No wonder I
wanted to hunt you up."
"Yes?" laughed Wallingford, entirely at ease. "I had been expecting
either you or a warrant."
"You can square that with a bottle of wine," offered the caller, and
together they trailed in to the bar, where, in a snug little corner,
they sat down. "What I came to see you about," began Meers, while they
waited for the wine to be made cold, "is this cigar dealers'
association that I hear you're doping up."
"Who told you?" asked Wallingford.
Mr. Meers winked.
"Never mind about that," he said. "I get it before the newspapers, and
if there's a good game going count little Joseph in."
Wallingford studied this over a bit before answering. That afternoon he
had decided not to invite Mr. Meers into the combination at all. He had
not seemed likely material.
"I want to give you a little tip," added Mr. Meers, observing this
hesitation. "No matter what the game is you need me. If I see my bit in
it it goes through, but if I don't I'll bet you lose."
"The thing isn't a game at all," Wallingford soberly insisted. "It is a
much needed commercial development that lets the cigar store be a real
business in place of a peanut stand. What I'm going to do is to
consolidate all the small shops in the city, for the purpose of buying
at large-lot prices and taking cash discounts."
"That's a good play, too," agreed Meers; "but how about the details of
it? How do you organize?"
"Make it a stock company," explained Wallingford, expanding largely;
"incorporate as the Retail Cigar Dealers' Consolidation and issue each
man stock to the value of his present business; leave each man in charge
of his own shop and pay him a salary equal to his present proved clear
earnings; split up the surplus profits every three months and declare
dividends."
"That's the outside," commented Mr. Meers, nodding his head wisely; "but
what's the inside? Show me. Understand, Mr. Wallingford, except for a
little friendly gamble like we had this afternoon, I only run a game
from behind the table. I do the dealing. I'm not what they call rich
back in the _effete_ East, but I'm getting along pretty well on one
proposition: _I always bet they don't_!"
"It's a good healthy bet," admitted Wallingford; "but you want to copper
it on this deal. This is a straight, legitimate proposition."
"Sure; sure," assented the other soothingly. "But where do you get in?"
"Well, I'm going to finance it. I'm going to take up some of the stock
and get my quarterly dividends. I'll probably buy a few stores and put
them in, and I hope to be made manager at a pretty good salary."
"I see but I don't," insisted the seeker after intimate knowledge. "That
all sounds good, but it don't look fancy enough for a man that's down on
the register of this hotel for suite D. If you come in to get my store
in the consolidation--"
"Which I don't know whether I'll do or not," interrupted Wallingford.
"Wait and you will, though," retorted the other. "If you come into my
place of business to get my store into the consolidation, I say, how do
you close the deal? I suppose I sign an agreement of some sort, don't
I?"
"Well, naturally, to have a safe understanding you'd have to," admitted
the promoter.
"Let me see the agreement."
J. Rufus drew a long breath and chuckled.
"You're a regular insister, ain't you?" he said as he drew a carbon copy
of the agreement from his pocket.
Mr. Meers read the paper over twice. The wine was brought to their table
and served, but he paid no attention to the filled glass at his elbow.
He was reading a certain portion of that agreement for the third and
fourth time, but at last he laid it down on the chair beside him and
solemnly tilted his hat to Mr. Wallingford.
"You're an honor to your family," he announced. "I didn't suppose there
were any more games left, but you've sprung a new one and it's a peach!"
Wallingford strove to look magnificently unaware of what he meant, but
the attempt was a failure.
"The scheme is so smooth," went on Mr. Meers with a heartfelt
appreciation, "that it strained my eyesight to find the little joker;
but now I can tell you all about it. It's in the transfer of the stock,
and here's what you do. The consolidation buys my place for, say, five
thousand dollars, and gives me five thousand dollars' worth of stock in
the consolidation for it. That's what this paper seems to say, but
that's not what happens. It's _you_ that buys my place for five thousand
dollars and gives me five thousand dollars' worth of stock in the
consolidation for it, and _you_, being then the temporary owner through
a fake trusteeship, turn around and sell my business to the
consolidation, the management of which is in your flipper through a
board of dummy directors, for _ten_ thousand dollars; and you have our
iron-clad contract to let you do this, though it don't say so! When you
get through you have consolidated a hundred and twenty-five thousand
dollars' worth of business into a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar
stock company, and you have a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars'
worth of stock which didn't cost you a cent! Say! Have this wine on me.
I insist! I want to buy you something!"
Slowly Mr. Wallingford's shoulders began to heave and his face to turn
red, and presently he broke into a series of chuckles that expanded to a
guffaw.
"I don't see how I ever won that five hundred from you this afternoon,"
he observed, and shook again.
"The pleasure is all mine," said the loser politely. "Now I'm sorry it
wasn't a thousand. You're worth the money and I'm glad I came to see
you. Count me in on the Retail Cigar Dealers' Consolidation."
"All right, sign the paper," said Wallingford with another chuckle.
"Watch me sign it not," said Meers. "I'm too patriotic. I'm so patriotic
that I hate to see all this good money go to a stranger, so I'm going to
take sixty-two and one half thousand dollars' worth of that free stock
myself. I declare myself in. You hear me?"
By the time Mr. Meers was through talking Wallingford was delighted so
far as surface went, though he was already doing some intense figuring.
"I don't know but that it's a good thing you came to see me," he
admitted. "However, I hope it don't strike you that I intend to give you
half a nice ripe peach without a good reason for it. What do I get for
letting you in?"
"That's a fair question. I guess you noticed that if we want to cut a
melon or open a keg of nails over in my place we don't go down in the
cellar?"
"I certainly did," admitted the big man with a grin.
"Well, that's it. I'm permanent alderman from the fifth ward, and every
time they hold an election they come and ask me whether I want it served
with mushrooms or tomato sauce. The job has belonged to me ever since I
was old enough to lie about my age. What I say goes in the privilege
line, and I guess a mere child could figure out what that privilege
would be worth to the Retail Cigar Dealers' Consolidation; the dice box
privilege; the back room privilege with a nice little poker game going
on twenty-four hours a day; faro if I want it. Besides, I'm coming in
just because. Why, I'm the man that stopped the ping pong game in this
town so I could have a monopoly of it!"
"How soon can you be ready to incorporate?" asked Wallingford, satisfied
to all external appearances; for this man could stop him. "To-morrow?"
"To-night, if you say so."
Wallingford laughed.
"It won't spoil over night," he said; "but there's just one thing I want
to know. Is there anybody else to cut in on this?"
In reply, Mr. Meers slowly drew down the under lid of his right eye to
show that there was no green in it, and when they parted an hour or so
later it was with mutual, even hilarious expressions of good will.
Immediately thereafter, however, Wallingford retired within himself and
spent long, long hours in thought.