A FRIEND’S BAD FAITH.
Among the common devices of faro gamblers to entrap victims, few are more common than to suggest to the proposed dupe that he enter a gambling house and play against the bank, at the same time receiving the secret assistance and co-operation of the dealer. That is to say, the latter individual, who works for a salary, will so manipulate the cards that the outside player shall win the proprietor’s money, after which the dealer and the winner will divide the profits. This scheme usually works well and even old gamblers are sometimes entrapped by it. A veteran dealer of New York City is authority for the following statement, a reminiscence of his own experience:
“A few years ago I was one of the dealers in a faro bank up town, and an acquaintance whom I liked very much was a dealer in a similar bank in the next block. Both were reputed to be, and undoubtedly were, ‘square’ games. The proprietor of the game my friend dealt for, however, was known to be extremely close and mean in money matters, and everybody disliked him, but as his game was trustworthy, his place was well patronized.
“I was not surprised one day when my friend came and told me that ‘Old Nick’ (that’ll do for the proprietor’s name) owed him $5,000, representing his interest in the game in lieu of a salary, which he refused to pay over. My friend proposed that I should come to his bank and play while he was dealing, and he would fix the deck so that I could win out what ‘Old Nick’ owed him and something over for myself. Being a dealer myself, and knowing that a sign from my friend would indicate just how the cards were to run through a deal, I saw that it was possible for me to right my friend’s wrongs and make a few hundred out of ‘Old Nick.’
“The first night everything seemed to go wrong. I got the sign to play ‘single out’ and the cards ran ‘double out,’ and when I played ‘double out’ they ‘singled out.’ I lost $1,000 and left the place, as mad a man as you ever saw. The next day I met my friend, who declared that it was the most astonishing thing he ever heard of, that he had acted squarely all through, and that somebody must have changed the decks in the drawer of the table so that he got hold of the wrong one. He offered to make my loss good if I did not win out the full stake at the next sitting. He seemed square and I believed him. The next night I lost $2,000 more, and when I left the place I was crazy mad. I didn’t dare say anything there, for it would have hurt me at my own place to have it known that I was in a ‘brace’ at another man’s game. I decided to wait until the next day and give the false friend a thrashing at least.
“The next day, however, the bank was closed and the dealer had skipped. ‘Old Nick’ had lost money on the races, had grown desperate, had ‘plunged’ and ‘gone broke.’ His partner, my friend, the dealer, knew that the bank would close and roped me in for a ‘stake’ to get away with. I was terribly angry, for I had been influenced almost entirely by my sympathy for my friend and I wanted to help him out.
“Did I ever get my money back? Well, I should say I did! I was out West two years ago, and one night strolled into a game in Kansas City. Just as I was about to buy a stack of chips, I noticed my friend in the look-out’s chair. He saw me at the same time, and motioned for me to come to him. As I approached he drew out a roll of money and said, ‘Here’s the dust you loaned me some time ago; much obliged, old man.’ I counted it and found it correct. Calling another man to the chair, he led me aside and explained that he had been in a desperate strait at the time and had always intended to repay me. He was now prosperous, he said, and making a fortune rapidly. I played at his game all that night and lost just the $3,000 he had paid me. I felt very queer when I went away, but I felt too cheap to say or do anything. I have come to the conclusion that there’s no money in ‘bucking the tiger,’ unless you are behind the game. I never play in front of the table any more. I can’t afford it.”
THE INFLUENCE OF MONEY ON PARENTAL DISAPPROBATION.
There exists a class of people—and its members are far too numerous—who, while condemning gambling in the abstract, and particularly outspoken in their denunciation of the vice when practiced by members of their own family, nevertheless have such a respect for money, that “lucre,” even when won at the gaming table, is not too filthy to command respect for its owner. The motto of such people seems to be: “Get money—honestly if you can, but get it.” An old acquaintance of mine once told me the following story, which is an illustration of the foregoing reflection, for the truth of which he vouched:
The young man, whom we will call James, once lived in a small Western city. His fondness for amusement led him into bad company, and he plunged into all sorts of dissipation, soon becoming a devotee of the green cloth. His parents deplored his lapse from morality, and frequently consulted together as to the best means of effecting his reformation. To deny him admission to the house might be to send him to ruin; persuasion they had found to be utterly without avail; example he derided and threats were a subject for mockery. Accordingly, they decided to adopt an attitude of what might be called, for want of a better name, “armed neutrality.” They determined to allow him to occupy his room and take his meals at home, but never to speak to him. The wayward son used to return to the paternal roof at all hours of the early morning, and after a few hours of sleep would make his appearance at the breakfast table. His father filled his plate and his mother poured his coffee. The rest of the family carried on a conversation, but no one spoke to James. One night the youth had been “playing in great luck,” and had returned home a winner to the amount of several hundred dollars. The following morning at the breakfast table his little sister asked her mother for half-a-dollar, with which to buy a school book. The old lady referred her to her father, who looked sour and querulously said that he saw no reason why he should buy it. The prodigal had heard what had been said, and drawing a roll of bills from his pocket handed the little one a five dollar bank note, saying: “Here, sis, get your book and keep the change.” His mother looked at the old man, and the latter stared at his son. Raising her spectacles and looking at her erring boy with a glance of mingled affection and pride, she asked in honied tones: “James, son, dear, is your coffee sweet enough?”