THE THOUSAND DOLLAR LESSON.
CHARLES PURVIS: TAKING HIM IN CHARGE AT A DISTANCE—HANGERS ON AT THE ST. NICHOLAS AND OTHER HOTEL ENTRANCES—A COLLOQUY, SPICED WITH REMINISCENCES OF "OLD SAM COLT," OF THE "REVOLVER," IN HIS GAY DAYS; A PARTY AT THE "OLD CITY HOTEL," HARTFORD, CONN., AND OTHER THINGS—TRINITY COLLEGE BOYS—"GEORGE ELLSWORTH"—PURVIS AND HE START ON A WALK—"WHERE CAN THEY BE GOING?"—GOING TO SEE ELLSWORTH'S "FRIEND"—AN EXCHANGE OF COATS—A SURVEY TAKEN—A FIRST-CLASS GAMBLING SALOON—A NEW MAN IN THE GAME—PURVIS DRUGGED—HIS "FRIENDS" TAKE HIM "HOME," BUT WHERE?—PURVIS IS RETURNED TO HIS HOTEL IN A STATE OF STUPEFACTION; IS AROUSED; MISSES A THOUSAND DOLLARS—PLANS LAID TO CATCH HIS LATE FRIENDS—WILLIAMS FOUND BY ACCIDENT, AND QUIETLY CAGED—THE OLD IRISH WOMAN'S APPEAL—WILLIAMS "EXPLAINS," AFTER PROPER INDUCEMENT—MOST OF THE MONEY RECOVERED—SUPPLEMENTS.
I had just returned from a trip to Detroit, and failing to find my chief partner in town, strolled up to the St. Nicholas Hotel one night, in July, 1863, and while sauntering about there, came across a gentleman whom I had, a few days before, remarked in the cars, on the Shore Line Road. He got on board at Painesville, Ohio, and by sundry peculiarities of his dress, which was a particle "flashy," but still neat and elegant, he attracted my attention. I was at a loss where to place, or how to classify him. Sometimes I took him for a merchant, then I thought he might be a lawyer, and again a young man of wealth and leisure. Suffice it, I allowed myself to study him—I know not why—so much that I was not likely to forget him.
Among the first persons I chanced to come across that day at the St. Nicholas, was this young man, and curiosity led me to learn from the bookkeeper his name, which I found to be Charles Purvis, of Louisville, Kentucky.
"Purvis?" I said to myself, "Purvis? The name is familiar, but where have I known anybody bearing it?" and so I cudgelled my brains to awaken memory, and at last called to mind a story told me by a brother detective, in my way, on a time, up the Mississippi River, in which the name of "Purvis" figured largely in a criminal transaction. "Perhaps," thought I, "this is the chap in question," and as I had nothing on hand to do for a day or two, I thought I would take the young gentleman in my charge—at a distance.
I left the hotel, determining to return early in the evening, and keep an eye to the young man. I did so, and I found that he was not a little "cheerful" in his ways about the bar,—treating, quite extensively, apparent strangers, but evidently, after all, not much given to making acquaintances. Finally, he left the bar-room, alone, and walked slowly through the hall, with the air of one who has nothing to do, and was reflecting how to amuse himself.
Near the front entrance of the hotel stood three men chatting,—men whose characters the experienced are never at a loss to know at once; a gentlemanly looking class, well dressed, of affable manners, and of the greatest shrewdness of address; men whose colloquial powers are very great at times, but who know how to measure every word, and adapt it to the precise wants of the individual whom they may happen to address. These were of a class always infesting the hotels, especially the better ones, of the city, and whose business it is to "rope in" strangers into the various gambling saloons.
Upon the approach of Mr. Purvis, two of these worthies, bidding the other a cordial adieu for the evening, and addressing him in a style to indicate that he was a man of unusual importance, withdrew up Broadway. Still this courtliness was evidently intended to bear upon Mr. Purvis, who was in hearing; and as he drew nearer the distinguished gentleman, the latter addressed him, in a mild way, touching the weather,—
"A very pleasant evening, sir."