CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.
A GAME OF WHIST.
In the centre of the smoking-saloon, there was a table, and around itsome half-dozen men were seated. Other half-dozen stood behind these,looking over their shoulders. The attitudes of all, and their eagerglances, suggested the nature of their occupation. The flouting ofpasteboard, the chink of dollars, and the oft-recurring words of "ace,""jack," and "trump," put it beyond a doubt that that occupation wasgaming. "Euchre" was the game.
Curious to observe this popular American game, I stepped up and stoodwatching the players. My friend who had raised the false alarm was oneof them; but his back was towards me, and I remained for some timeunseen by him.
Some two or three of those who played were elegantly-dressed men. Theircoats were of the finest cloth, their ruffles of the costliest cambric,and jewels sparkled in their shirt bosoms and glittered upon theirfingers. These fingers, however, told a tale. They told plainly aswords, that they to whom they belonged had not always been accustomed tosuch elegant adornment. Toilet soap had failed to soften the corrugatedskin, and obliterate the abrasions--the souvenirs of toil.
This was nothing. They might be gentlemen for all that. Birth is ofslight consequence in the Far West. The plough-boy may become thePresident.
Still there was an air about these men--an air I cannot describe, butwhich led me at the moment to doubt their _gentility_. It was not fromany swagger or assumption on their part. On the contrary, they appearedthe _most gentlemanly_ individuals around the table!
They were certainly the most sedate and quiet. Perhaps it was this verysedateness--this polished reserve--that formed the spring of mysuspicion. True gentlemen, bloods from Tennessee or Kentucky, youngplanters of the Mississippi coast, or French Creoles of Orleans, wouldhave offered different characteristics. The cool complacency with whichthese individuals spoke and acted--no symptoms of perturbation as thetrump was turned, no signs of ruffled temper when luck went againstthem--told two things; first, that they were men of the world, and,secondly, that they were not now playing their maiden game of "Euchre."Beyond that I could form no judgment about them. They might be doctors,lawyers, or "gentlemen of elegant leisure"--a class by no means uncommonin the work-a-day world of America.
At that time I was still too new to Far West society, to be able todistinguish its features. Besides, in the United States, andparticularly in the western portion of the country, those peculiaritiesof dress and habit, which in the Old-World form, as it were, thelandmarks of the professions, do not exist. You may meet the preacherwearing a blue coat and bright buttons; the judge with a green one; thedoctor in a white linen jacket; and the baker in glossy black broadclothfrom top to toe!
Where every man assumes the right to be a gentleman, the costumes andbadges of trade are studiously avoided. Even the tailor isundistinguishable in the mass of his "fellow-citizens." The land ofcharacter-dresses lies farther to the south-west--Mexico is that land.
I stood for some time watching the gamesters and the game. Had I notknown something of the banking peculiarities of the West, I should havebelieved that they were gambling for enormous sums. At each man's rightelbow lay a huge pile of bank-notes, flanked by a few pieces of silver--dollars, halves, and quarters. Accustomed as my eyes had been tobank-notes of five pounds in value, the table would have presented to mea rich appearance, had I not known that these showy parallelograms ofcopper-plate and banking-paper, were mere "shin-plasters," representingamounts that varied from the value of one dollar to that of six and aquarter cents! Notwithstanding, the bets were far from being low.Twenty, fifty, and even a hundred dollars, frequently changed hands in asingle game.
I perceived that the hero of the false alarm was one of the players.His back was towards me where I stood, and he was too much engrossedwith his game to look around.
In dress and general appearance he differed altogether from the rest.He wore a white beaver hat with broad brim, and a coat of great "jeans,"wide-sleeved and loose-bodied. He had the look of a well-to-docorn-farmer from Indiana or a pork-merchant from Cincinnati. Yet therewas something in his manner that told you river-travelling was not newto him. It was not his first trip "down South." Most probably thesecond supposition was the correct one--he was a dealer in hog-meat.
One of the fine gentlemen I have described sat opposite to where I wasstanding. He appeared to be losing considerable sums, which the farmeror pork-merchant was winning. It proved that the luck of the cards wasnot in favour of the smartest-looking players--an inducement to otherplain people to try a hand.
I began to feel sympathy for the elegant gentleman, his losses were sosevere. I could not help admiring the composure with which he borethem.
At length he looked up, and scanned the faces of those who stood around.He seemed desirous of giving up the play. His eye met mine. He said,in a careless way--
"Perhaps, stranger, _you_ wish to take a hand? You may have my place ifyou do. I have no luck. I could not win under any circumstancesto-night. I shall give up playing."
This appeal caused the rest of the players to turn their faces towardsme, and among others the pork-dealer. I expected an ebullition of angerfrom this individual. I was disappointed. On the contrary, he hailedme in a friendly tone.
"Hilloa, mister!" cried he, "I hope you an't miffed at me?"
"Not in the least," I replied.
"Fact, I meant no offence. Did think thar war a some 'un overboard.Dog-gone me, if I didn't!"
"Oh! I have taken no offence," rejoined I; "to prove it, I ask you nowto drink with me."
The juleps and the late reaction from bitter thought had rendered me ofa jovial disposition. The free apology at once won my forgiveness.
"Good as wheat!" assented the pork-dealer. "I'm your man; but,stranger, you must allow me to pay. You see, I've won a trifle here._My_ right to pay for the drinks."
"Oh! I have no objection."
"Well, then, let's all licker! _I_ stand drinks all round. What sayyou, fellars?" A murmur of assent answered the interrogatory.
"Good!" continued the speaker. "Hyar, bar-keeper! drinks for thecrowd!"
And so saying, he of the white-hat and jeans coat stepped forward to thebar, and placed a couple of dollars upon the counter. All who were nearfollowed him, shouting each out the name of the beverage most to hisliking in the various calls of "gin-sling", "cocktail", "cobbler,""julep", "brandy-smash," and such-like interesting mixtures.
In America men do not sit and sip their liquor, but drink standing._Running_, one might say--for, be it hot or cold, mixed or "neat," it isgone in a gulp, and then the drinkers retire to their chairs to smoke,chew, and wait for the fresh invitation, "Let's all licker!"
In a few seconds we had all liquored, and the players once more tooktheir seats around the table.
The gentleman who had proposed to me to become his successor did notreturn to his place. He had no luck, he again said, and would not playany more that night.
Who would accept his place and his partner? I was appealed to.
I thanked my new acquaintances, but the thing was impossible, as I hadnever played Euchre, and therefore knew nothing about the game, beyondthe few points I had picked up while watching them.
"That ar awkward," said the pork-dealer. "Ain't we nohow able to get upa set? Come, Mr Chorley--I believe that's your name, sir?" (This wasaddressed to the gentleman who had risen.) "You ain't a-goin' to desartus that away? We can't make up a game if you do?"
"I should only lose if I played longer," reiterated Chorley. "No,"continued he, "I won't risk it."
"Perhaps this gentleman plays `whist,'" suggested another, alluding tome. "You're an Englishman, sir, I believe. I never knew one of yourcountrymen who was not a good whist-player."
"True, I can play whist," I replied carelessly.
"Well, then, what say you all to a game of whist?" inquired the lastspeaker, glancing around the table.
"Don't know much
about the game," bluntly answered the pork-dealer."Mout play it on a pinch rayther than spoil sport; but whoever hez mefor a partner 'll have to keep a sharp look-out for himself, I reckon."
"I guess you know the game as well as I do," replied the one who hadproposed it.
"I hain't played a rubber o' whist for many a year, but if we can't makeup the set at Euchre, let's try one."
"Oh! if you're goin' to play whist," interposed the gentleman who hadseceded from the game of Euchre--"if you're going to play whist, I don'tmind taking a hand at _that_--it may change my luck--and if thisgentleman has no objection, I'd like him for my partner. As you say,sir, Englishmen are good whist-players. It's their national game, Ibelieve."
"Won't be a fair match, Mr Chorley," said the dealer in hog-meat; "butsince you propose it, if Mr Hatcher here--your name, sir, I believe?"
"Hatcher is my name," replied the person addressed, the same whosuggested whist.
"If Mr Hatcher here," continued white-hat, "has no objection to thearrangement, I'll not back out. Doggoned, if I do!"
"Oh! I don't care," said Hatcher, in a tone of reckless indifference,"anything to get up a game."
Now, I was never fond of gambling, either amateur or otherwise, butcircumstances had made me a tolerable whist-player, and I knew therewere few who could beat me at it. If my partner knew the game as well,I felt certain we could not be badly damaged; and according to allaccounts he understood it well. This was the opinion of one or two ofthe bystanders, who whispered in my ear that he was a "whole team" atwhist.
Partly from the reckless mood I was in--partly that a secret purposeurged me on--a purpose which developed itself more strongly afterwards--and partly that I had been bantered, and, as it were, "cornered" intothe thing, I consented to play--Chorley and I _versus_ Hatcher and thepork-merchant.
We took our seats--partners _vis-a-vis_--the cards were shuffled, cut,dealt, and the game began.