CHAPTER XXVI.
A NICE LITTLE GAME.
It was natural enough that the "mud-clerk" on the old steamboat Iatanshould take a fancy to the "striker," as the engineer's apprentice wascalled. Especially since the striker know so much more than themud-clerk, and was able to advise him about many things. A striker withso much general information was rather a novelty, and all the officersfancied him, except Sam Munson, the second engineer, who had a naturaljealousy of a striker that knew more than he did.
The striker had learned rapidly, and was trusted to stand a regularwatch. The first engineer and the third were together, and the secondengineer and the striker took the other watch. The boat in this way gotthe services of a competent engineer while paying him only astriker's wage.
About the time the heavily-laden Iatan turned out of the Mississippiinto the Ohio at Cairo at six in the evening, the striker went offwatch, and he ought to have gone to bed to prepare himself for thesecond watch of the night, especially as he would only have thedog-watch between that and the forenoon. But a passenger had got aboardat Cairo, whose face was familiar. The sight of it had aroused a throngof old associations, pleasant and unpleasant, and a throng of emotionsthe most tender and the most wrathful the striker had ever felt. Sleephe could not, and so, knowing that the mud-clerk was on watch, he soughtthe office after nine o'clock, and stood outside the bar talking to hisfriend, who had little to do, since most of the freight had been shippedthrough, and his bills for Paducah were all ready. The striker talkedwith the mud-clerk, but watched the throng of passengers who drank witheach other at the bar, smoked in the "social hall," read and wrote atthe tables in the gentlemen's cabin, or sat with doffed hats and chattedgallantly in the ladies' cabin, which was visible as a distantbackground, seen over a long row of tables with green covers and under along row of gilded wooden stalactites, which were intended to beornamental. The little pendent prisms beneath the chandeliers rattledgayly as the boat trembled at each stroke of her wheels, and gapingbackwoodsmen, abroad for the first time, looked at all the rustygingerbread-work, and wondered if kings were able to afford anythinghalf so fine as the cabin of the "palatial steamer Iatan," as she wasdescribed on the bills. The confused murmur of many voices, mixed withthe merry tinkling of the glass pendants, gave the whole an air ofexcitement.
But the striker did not see the man he was looking for. "Who got on atCairo? I think I saw a man from our part of the country," he said.
"I declare, I don't know," said the mud-clerk, who drawled his words ina cold-blooded way. "Let me look. Here's A. Robertson, and T. Le Fevre,and L.B. Sykes, and N. Anderson."
"Where is Anderson going?"
"Paid through to Louisville. Do you know him?"
But just then Norman Anderson himself walked in, and went up to the barwith a new acquaintance. They did not smoke the pipe of peace, like redAmericans, but, like white Americans, they had a mysterious liquidcarefully compounded, and by swallowing this they solemnly sealed theirnew-made friendship after the curious and unexplained rite in use amongtheir people.
Norman had been dispatched on a collecting trip, and having nine hundredand fifty dollars in his pocket, he felt as much elated as if it hadbeen his own money. The gentleman with whom he drank, had a band ofcrape around his white hat. He seemed very nearsighted.
"If that greeny is a friend of yours, Gus, I declare you'd better tellhim not to tie to the serious-looking young fellow in the white hat andgold specs, unless he means to part with all his loose change beforebed-time."
That is what the mud-clerk drawled to August the striker, but thestriker seemed to hear the words as something spoken afar off. For justthen he was seeing a vision of a drunken mob, and a rope, and a pleadingwoman, and a brave old man threatened with death. Just then he heardharsh and muddled voices, rude oaths, and jeering laughter, and above itall the sweet pleading of a little girl begging for a father's life. Andthe quick blood came into his fair German face, and he felt that hecould not save this Norman Anderson from the toils of the gambler,though he might, if provoked, pitch him over the guard of the boat. Forwas not Andrew's letter, which described the mob, in his pocket, andburning a hole in his pocket as it had been ever since he received it?
But then this was Julia's brother, and there was nothing he would notdo for Julia. So, sometime after the mud-clerk had ceased to speak, thestriker gave utterance to both impulses by replying, "He's no friend ofmine," a little crisply, and then softly adding, "Though I shouldn'tlike to see him fleeced."
By this time a new actor had appeared on the scene in the person of aman with a black mustache and side-whiskers, who took a seat behind acard-table near the bar.
"H'llo!" said the mud-clerk in a low and lazy voice, "Parkins is backagain. After his scrape at Paducah last February, he disappeared, andhe's been shady ever since. He's growed whiskers since, so's not to berecognized. But he'll be skeerce enough when we get to Paducah. Now, seehow quick he'll catch the greenies, won't you?" The prospect was socharming as almost to stimulate the mud-clerk to speak with someanimation.
But August Wehle, the striker on the Iatan, had an uncomfortable feelingthat he had seen that face before, and that the long mustache andside-whiskers had grown in a remarkably short space of time. Could it bethat there were two men who could spread a smile over the lower half oftheir faces in that automatic way, while the spider-eyes had no sort ofsympathy with it? Surely, this man with black whiskers and mustache wasnot just like the singing-master at Sugar-Grove school-house, who had"red-top hay on to his upper lip," and yet--and yet--
"Gentlemen," said Parkins--his Dickensian name would be Smirkins--"Iwant to play a little game just for the fun of the thing. It is a trickwith three cards. I put down three cards, face up. Here is six ofdiamonds, eight of spades, and the ace of hearts. Now, I will turn themover so quickly that I will defy any of you to tell which is the ace.Do you see? Now, I would like to bet the wine for the company that nogentleman here can turn up the ace. All I want is a little sport.Something to pass away the evening and amuse the company. Who will betthe wine? The Scripture says that the hand is quicker than the eye, andI warn you that if you bet, you will probably lose." And here he turnedthe cards back, with their faces up, and the card which everybody feltsure was the ace proved apparently to be that card. Most of theon-lookers regretted that they had not bet, seeing that they wouldcertainly have won. Again the cards were put face down, and the companywas bantered to bet the wine. Nobody would bet.
A NICE LITTLE GAME.]
After a good deal of fluent talk, and much dexterous handling of thecards, in a way that seemed clear enough to everybody, and that showedthat everybody's guess was right as to the place of the ace, thenear-sighted gentleman, who had drunk with Norman, offered to betfive dollars.
"Five dollars!" returned Parkins, laughing in derision, "five dollars!Do you think I'm a gambler? I don't want any gentleman's money. I've gotall the money I need. However, if you would like to bet the wine withme, I am agreed."
The near-sighted gentleman declined to wager anything but just the fivedollars, and Parkins spurned his proposition with the scorn of agentleman who would on no account bet a cent of money. But he grewexcited, and bantered the whole crowd. Was there no _gentleman_ in thecrowd who would lay a wager of wine for the company on this interestinglittle trick? It was strange to him that no gentleman had spirit enoughto make the bet. But no gentleman had spirit enough to bet the wine.Evidently there were no gentlemen in the company.
However, the near-sighted man with the white hat adorned with crape nowproposed in a crusty tone to bet ten dollars that he could lift the ace.He even took out a ten-dollar bill, and, after examining it, in holdingit close to his nose as a penurious man might, extended his hand with,"If you're in earnest, let's know it. I'll bet you ten."
At this Parkins grew furious. He had never been so persistently badgeredin all his life. He'd have the gentleman know that he was not a gambler.He had all the money he wanted, and as for betting
ten dollars, heshouldn't think of it. But now that the gentleman--he said _gentleman_with an emphasis--now that the gentleman seemed determined to bet money,he would show him that he was not to be backed down. If the young manwould like to wager a hundred dollars, he would cheerfully bet with him.If the gentleman did not feel able to bet a hundred dollars, he hoped hewould not say any more about it. He hadn't intended to bet money at all.But he wouldn't bet less than a hundred dollars with anybody. A man whocouldn't afford to lose a hundred dollars, ought not to bet.
"Who is this fellow in the white hat with spectacles?" August asked ofthe mud-clerk.
"That is Smith, Parkins's partner. He is only splurging round to startup the greenies." And the mud-clerk spoke with an indifference and yet asort of _dilettante_ interest in the game that shocked his friend,the striker.
"Why don't they set these blacklegs ashore?" said August, whose love ofjustice was strong.
"_You_ tell," drawled the mud-clerk. "The first clerk's tried it, butthe old man protects 'em, and" (in a whisper) "get's his share, I guess.He can set them off whenever he wants to." (I must explain that thereis only one "old man" on a steamboat--that is, the captain.)
By this time Parkins had turned and thrown his cards so that everybodyknew or thought he knew where the ace was. Smith, the man with the whitehat, now rose five dollars more and offered to bet fifteen. But Parkinswas more indignant than ever. He told Smith to go away. He thrust hishand into his pocket and drew out a handful of twenty-dollargold-pieces. "If any gentleman wants to bet a hundred dollars, let himcome on. A man who couldn't lose a hundred would better keep still."
Smith now made a big jump. He'd go fifty. Parkins wouldn't listen tofifty. He had said that he wouldn't bet less than a hundred, and hewouldn't. He now pulled out handful after handful of gold, and piled thedouble-eagles up like a fortification in front of him, while the crowdsurged with excitement.
At last Mr. Smith, the near-sighted gentleman in spectacles, thegentleman who wore black crape on a white hat, concluded to bet ahundred dollars. He took out his little porte-monnaie and lifted thencea hundred-dollar bill.
"Well," said he angrily, "I'll bet you a hundred." And he laid down thebill. Parkins piled five twenty-dollar gold-pieces atop it. Each manfelt that he could lift the ace in a moment. That card at the dealer'sright was certainly the ace. Norman was sure of it. He wished it hadbeen his wager instead of Smith's. But Parkins stopped Smith a moment.
"Now, young man," he said, "if you don't feel perfectly able to losethat hundred dollars, you'd better take it back."
"I am just as able to lose it as you are," said Smith snappishly, and toeverybody's disappointment he lifted not the card everybody had fixedon, but the middle one, and so lost his money.
"Why didn't you take the other?" said Norman boastfully. "I knew it wasthe ace."
"Why didn't you bet, then?" said Smith, grinning a little. Norman wishedhe had. But he had not a hundred dollars of his own, and he hadscruples--faint, and yet scruples, or rather alarms--at the thought ofrisking his employer's money on a wager. While he was weighing motiveagainst motive, Smith bet again, and again, to Norman's vexation,selected a card that was so obviously wrong that Norman thought it apity that so near-sighted a man should bet and lose. He wished he had ahundred dollars of his own and--There, Smith was betting again. Thistime he consulted Norman before making his selection, and of courseturned up the right card, remarking that he wished his eyes were sokeen! He would win a thousand dollars before bed-time if his eyes wereso good! Then he took Norman into partnership, and Norman found himselfsuddenly in possession of fifty dollars, gotten without trouble. Thisturned his brain. Nothing is so intoxicating to a weak man as moneyacquired without toil. So Norman continued to bet, sometimesindependently, sometimes in partnership with, the gentlemanly Smith. Hewas borne on by the excitement of varying fortune, a varying fortuneabsolutely under control of the dealer, whose sleight-of-hand wasperfect. And the varying fortune had an unvarying tendency in the longrun--to put three stakes out Of five into the pockets of the gamblers,who found the little game very interesting amusement for gentlemen.