“The end came suddenly. It was a flush against a full, and Stein held the full and swept the board. There was a moment’s silence, and then Bradley said with a short laugh:
“‘Well, I’ve lost, and I’ll leave town on the morning train. That’ll do, I suppose, won’t it?’
“‘Yes, that’ll do,’ said Stein, gravely. He had won in the outrageous contest, and I expected to see him greatly elated, but instead he seemed curiously depressed. And as the situation was decidedly embarrassing for all hands we went to bed uncommonly early that night, so that everybody was up in time next morning to see Bradley go on the early train as he had agreed to do.”
“Well, yes,” said the gray-haired young-looking man, in answer to a question, “that is the end of the story, as far as the poker part of it goes. Of course there was this sequel. It was inevitable, I suppose. Lena followed Bradley a day or two afterward, and Stein drank himself to death.”
The Club’s Last Game
IT TAUGHT AN INTERESTING MORAL ABOUT RAISING THE LIMIT
“It is sometimes hard to draw the line between a professional gambler and another,” said the gray-haired young-looking man in the club smoking-room. “And even if you do succeed in making the distinction clear, the comparison isn’t always to the detriment of the professional. I remember an instance in a poker club to which I once belonged, which was interesting enough, though it pointed no particular moral that I know of, unless it was by renewing the old doubt whether the devil is always as black as he is painted.
“Our club was rather a curious one in some respects, though we did not realize it at the time. It began with a little game in one of the New England cities where you have to keep very quiet about your card playing unless you don’t give a rap for your standing in the business community, to say nothing of your social position. I don’t know that people are so very much better in such communities than they are elsewhere, but there is a sort of general bluff made by common consent that shuts out open and flagrant offenders from companionship with those who have more regard for ‘the speech of people.’
“There were six of us in the party that used to meet every Saturday night at one another’s rooms, and it was as pleasant and harmonious a circle as I ever joined. We were all young business men, unmarried and prosperous, and all of excellent standing at that time. There was never a quarrel among us, in all our play, and for a long time the play was never heavy enough to hurt even the worst loser. It was almost always a fifty-cent limit, though we would often disregard the limit in the single round of consolation jack-pots with which we concluded every evening’s play.
“One of the number, whom I will call George, for I can’t give surnames in this story, because it is a true one, was transferred by the railroad company for which he worked to another city, forty odd miles away. Then Harry had an offer of a situation in a large wholesale house in another direction, and sold out his business to accept it. Eli married a rich girl in still another place, and he moved away, leaving only three of us in the same town, yet the Saturday evening games went on almost without interruption. Eli was, naturally enough, oftenest absent, but George and Harry would come in by rail, so that we always had four and almost always five at the table. Of course, as the old friendship was as warm as ever, we enjoyed the reunions even more keenly than we had. After a time the play grew harder. The limit was usually $2, and occasionally as high as $5, while it was lifted off altogether in the consolation pots, so that it was not unusual for one or two of us to be several hundred dollars ahead or behind at the end of the evening.