“Oh, you are certainly mistaken, Rufus,” said Mr. Jones blandly.
“No, he isn’t!” exclaimed the dupe. “I am not blind, and I know that we both opened this lock not ten minutes since. But we can’t do it now,” he added, handing the invention back to its owner, who put it back into his pocket and took charge of the money.
“This is the first I ever made by betting,” said he. “Now I must be off to fulfill my engagement with my partner. I’ll return very shortly, and then we will go home.”
So saying Mr. Jones disappeared, leaving Guy and Whitney to talk the matter over at their leisure.
“What an idiot I was to risk my money on that thing,” said the latter regretfully. “I ought to have known that a man who has spent a whole year in perfecting an invention is better acquainted with it than a stranger. I am nearly strapped. I haven’t money enough to pay my fare to Chicago, and I don’t know a soul this side of there.”
“Don’t let it trouble you,” said Guy soothingly. “Robinson will return that money in the morning, and then he will read us a long lecture on betting.”
“Do you really think he will give it back?” asked Whitney, in a more hopeful tone.
“I am sure of it. He does not intend to keep it, for he was brought up in New England, and according to his idea, betting is no better than gambling. Some more cigars, waiter. I’ve got a quarter left.”
The cigars were brought, and Guy, receiving the matches from the hand of the waiter, deposited them in a little pool of beer upon the table, so that when he wanted to light their cigars the matches would not burn. Guy grumbled at this, and said he would go to the bar for a light. He went; and Whitney, who was deeply occupied with his own thoughts, bemoaning his folly for risking his money on that patent invention, and wondering if Robinson would be generous enough to return it in the morning, did not see him when, after lighting his cigar, he slipped through the door into the street.
Guy’s first attempt at swindling had met with success, but it did not bring with it those feelings of happiness and independence which he had so confidently looked for. There was not a criminal in St. Louis who felt so utterly disgraced as he did at that moment. The reaction had come after his hour of excitement, and his spirits were sadly depressed. He looked upon it now as a most contemptible proceeding to wheedle one’s way into a stranger’s good graces, and then seize the first opportunity to do him an injury. Accompanying this reflection was the thought—and his mind would dwell upon it, in spite of all he could do to prevent it—that he had rendered himself liable to legal punishment, and that he was every moment in danger of being arrested and thrust into jail. Had Whitney’s money been in his pocket just then, he would have lost not a moment in returning it to its rightful owner; but it was safely stowed away about the good clothes of his friend and partner, Mr. Jones, who was seated in a certain bowling alley, which had been designated beforehand as the place of meeting, solacing himself with a cigar, and anxiously awaiting Guy’s appearance.