The Bad Boy's Dad and a Man from Dakota Frame Up a Scheme to
Break the Bank, But They Go Broke--The Party in Trouble.
Monte Carlo.--Dear Uncle: I blush to write the name, Monte Carlo, at
the head of a letter to anyone that is a Christian, or who believes in
honesty and decency, and earning a living by the sweat of one's brow,
for this place is the limit. If I should write anybody a letter from
South Clark street, Chicago, the recipient would know I had gone wrong,
and was located in the midst of a bad element, and the inference would
be that I was the worst fakir, robber, hold-up man or assassin in the
bunch.
The inference you must draw from the heading of this letter is that dad
and I have taken all the degree of badness and are now winding up
our career by taking the last degree, before passing in our chips and
committing suicide. Do you know what this place is, old man? Monaco is
a principality, about six miles square, ruled by a prince, and the whole
business of the country, for it is a “country” the same as though it had
a king, is gambling. They have all the different kinds of gambling, from
chuck-a-luck at two bits to roulette at a million dollars a minute. What
started dad to come to Monte Carlo is more than I know, unless it was
a new American he has got acquainted with, a fellow from North Dakota,
that dad met at a sort of dance that he did not take me to. It seems
there is a place in Paris where they go to see men and women dance--one
of those dances where they kick so high that their feet hit the gas
fixtures.
Well, all I know about it is that one Wednesday night dad said he felt
as though it was his duty to go to prayer meeting, so he could say when
he got home that in all the frivolities of a trip abroad, even in wicked
Paris, he never neglected his church duties. I never was stuck on going
to prayer meeting, so dad let me stay at the hotel and play pool with
the cash register boy in the barroom, and dad took a hymn book and went
out, looking pious as I ever saw him.
[Illustration: Dance, like they had seen the people dance at the show
164]
My, what a difference there was in dad in the morning. I woke up about
daylight, and dad came into the room with a strange man, with spinach on
his chin, and they began to dance, like they had seen the people dance
at the show where they had passed the evening. They were undressed,
except their underclothes, which wore these combination suits, so when
a man gets into them he is sealed up like a bologna, and he has to have
help when he wants to get out to take a bath, and he has to have an
outsider button him in with a button hook. Gee, I would rather be a
sausage and done with it! Well, dad and this man from Dakota kicked high
until dad caught by the ankle on a gas bracket, and the strange man got
me up out of bed to help unloosen dad and get him down before he was
black in the face. Finally we got dad down and then the two old codgers
began to discuss a proposition to go to Monte Carlo to break the bank.
[Illustration: A system of gambling 162]
The Dakota man agreed that Americans had no right to be spending their
own money doing Europe, when their genius was equal to the task of
acquiring the money of the less intelligent foreigners. He said they
could go to Monte Carlo and by a system of gambling which he had used
successfully in the Black Hills they could carry away all the money
they could pile into sacks. The man said he would guarantee to break
the bank if dad would put his money against the Dakota man's experience
as a gambler, and they would divide the proceeds equally. Dad bit like a
bass. He said he had always had an element of adventure in his make-up,
and had always liked to take chances, and from what he had heard of
the fabulous sums won and lost at Monte Carlo he could see that if a
syndicate could be formed that would win most of the time, he could see
that there was more money in it than in any manufacturing enterprise,
and he was willing to finance the scheme.
The Dakota man fairly hugged dad, and he told dad in confidence that
they two could divide up money enough to make them richer than they ever
dreamed of, and all the morning they discussed the plan, and made a
list of things they would need to get away with the money. They provided
themselves with canvas sacks to carry away the gold, and dad drew all
his money out of the bank, and that evening we took a train for Monte
Carlo. All the way here dad and his new friend chuckled over the
sensation they would make among the gamblers, and I became real
interested in the scheme. There was to be some fun besides the winning
of the money, because they talked of going out in the park and on the
terraces when they were tired of winning money, and seeing the poor
devils who had gone broke commit suicide, as that is said to be one of
the features of the place.
[Illustration: Seeing the poor devils who had gone broke 166]
Well, we got a suite of rooms and the first day we looked over the
place, and ate free banquets and saw how the people dressed, and just
looked prosperous and showed money on the slightest provocation, and
got the hang of things. Dad was to go in the big gambling room in the
afternoon with his pockets fairly dropsical with money, and the Dakota
man was to do the betting, and dad was to hold one of the canvas bags,
and when it was full we were to take it to our room, and quit gambling
for awhile, to give the bank a chance to raise more money. Dad insisted
that his partner should lose a small bet once in awhile, so the bank
should not get on to the fact that we had a cinch.
After luncheon we entered the big gambling room, in full-dress suits,
and, by gosh! it was like a king's reception. There were hundreds of
men and women, dressed for a party, and it did not seem like a gambling
hell, except that there were, piles of gold as big as stoves, on all
the tables, and the guests were provided with silver rakes, with long
handles, to rake in the money. Dad said in a whisper to the Dakota man:
“What is the use of taking the trouble to run a gold mine, and get all
dirtied up digging dirty nuggets, when you can get nice, clean gold, all
coined, ready to spend, by betting right?” And then dad turned to me
and he said; “Hennery, don't let the sight of this wealth make you
avaricious. Don't be purse-proud when you find that your poor father,
after years of struggle against adversity, and the machinations of
designing men, has got next to the Pierpont Morgan class and has money
to buy railroads. Don't get excited when we begin to bag the money, but
just act as though it was a regular thing with us to salt down our gold
for winter, the same as we do our pork.”
A count, or a duke, gave us nice seats, and rakes to haul in the money;
a countess, with a low-necked dress, winked at dad when he reached into
his pistol pocket and brought out a roll of bills and handed them to the
Dakota man, who bought $500 worth of red chips, and when the man looked
the roulette table over and put about a pint of chips on the red, dad
choked up so he was almost black in the face, and began to perspire so
I had to wipe my face with a handkerchief; the gambler rolled the wheel
and when the ball stopped on the red, and dad did the raking and raked
in a quart of chips, and dad shook hands with the Dakota man and said:
“Pard, we have got 'em on the run,” and reached for his sack to put in
the first installment of acquired wealth, and the low-necked countess
smiled a ravishing smile on dad, and dad looked as though he owned a
brewery, and the Dakota man twisted his chin whiskers and acted like he
was sorry for the Monte Carlo bank, I just got so faint with joy that I
almost cried.
To think we had skinned along as economically as possible all our lives,
and never made much money, and now, through this Dakota genius, and this
Monte Carlo opportunity, we had wealth raking in by the bushel, made
me feel great, and I wondered why more people had not found out this
faraway place, where people could become rich and prosperous in a day,
if they had the nerve. I tell you, old man, it was great, and I was
going to cable you to sell out your grocery for what you could get
at forced sale and come here with the money, gamble and become a
millionaire.
[Illustration: Reach into another pocket and dig up another roll 171]
*****
Monte Carlo (the next day).--My Dear Uncle Ezra: I do not know how to
write you the sequel to this tragedy. After our Dakota partner, with the
Black Hills system of beating a roulette game, had won the first bet,
he never guessed the right color again, and dad had no more use for the
rake. Every time he bet and lost, he would reach out to dad for more
money, and dad would reach into another pocket and dig up another roll,
and the countess would laugh and dad had to act as though he enjoyed
losing money.
It was about dark when dad had fished up the last hundred dollars and it
was gone before dad could wink back to the countess, then the Dakota man
looked at dad for more, and dad shook his head and said it was all off,
and they looked it each other a minute, and then we all three got up
and went out in the park to see the people who had gone broke commit
suicide, but there was not a revolver shot and dad and the Dakota man
sat down on a seat and I looked at the moon.
He would reach out to Dad for more money, and Dad would reach into
another pocket and dig up another roll.
Dad looked at the Dakota man and said: “You started me in all right.
What happened to your system?” The Dakota man was silent for a moment,
and then he pointed to me and said: “That imp of yours crossed his
fingers every time I bet, except the first time.” Dad called me to him,
and he said: “Hennery, let this be a lesson to you. Never to cross your
fingers. You have ruined your dad,” and he turned his pockets inside
out, and hadn't change for a dollar note, and he gave me the empty sack
to carry, and we went to our suite of rooms, knowing we would be fired
out into the cold world.
It will take a week to get money from the states, and we may be sent
to the work house, as we are broke, and haven't got the means even to
commit suicide. Don't tell ma.
Yours,
Hennery.