I have already told you how by nature I was a gambler. I had inborn6 hankerings after games of chance, and it was scant7 time, indeed, before I found myself on terms of more or less near acquaintance with every card sharper of the city. And I became under their improper8 tutelage an expert cheat myself. At short cards and such devices as faro and roulette, I soon knew each devious9 turn and was in excellent qualification to pillage10 my way to eminence11 if not to riches among the nimble-fingered nobility of the green tables into whose midst I had coaxed12 or crowded my way. Vast was my ambition to soar as a blackleg, and no student at his honest books burned with more fire to succeed. I became initiate13 into such mysteries as the “bug,” the “punch,” the “hold-out”; I could deal “double” or “from the bottom;” was a past master of those dubious14 faro inventions, the “snake,” the “end squeeze,” and the “balance top;” could “put back” with a clean deftness15 that might deceive even my masters in evil doing, and with an eye like a hawk16 read a deck of marked cards with the same easy certainty that I read the alphabet. It was a common compliment to my guilty merit that no better craftsman17 at crooked18 play ever walked in Diamond Alley19.
No, as I’ve heretofore explained, there dawned a day when I gave up card gambling20 and played no more. It is now twenty years since I wagered22 so much as a two-bit piece in any game other than the Wall Street game of stocks. And yet it was no moral arousal that drew me from roulette, from farobank and from draw poker23. I merely awoke to the truth that the greatest simpleton of cards is the professional gambler himself; and with that I turned my back on the whole scurvy25 business and quit the dens26 for the exchange. And with no purpose to preach, I say openly and with a fullest freedom that the game of stock speculation27 is as replete28 of traps and pitfalls29, and of as false and blackleg character as any worst game of iniquitous30 faro that is dealt with trimmed and sanded deck from a dishonest box. As an arena of morals the stock exchange presents no conscious improvement beyond what is offered by the veriest dead-fall ever made elate with those two rings at the bell which tell the waiting inmates31 that some “steerer” is on the threshold with rustic32 victim to be fleeced. I once read that the homestead of Captain Kidd, the pirate, stood two centuries ago on that plot of ground now covered by the New York Stock Exchange; and I confess to a smile when I reflected how the spirit of immortal33 rapine would seem to hover34 over the place. The exchange is a fit successor to the habitat of that wild freebooter who died and dried in execution dock when long ago the Stuart Anne was queen.
During those earlier months in Pittsburg, I was not permitted by my father—who had much control of me, even unto the day of his death—to altogether abandon Tom’s Run, and the good, grimy miner folk, its inhabitants. My week’s holiday began with each Saturday’s noon; from that hour until Monday morning I was free; and thus, obeying my father’s behests, Saturday evening and Sunday, I was bound to pass beneath my parents’ roof.
It was during one of these visits home when I first cheated at cards—memorable event!—and it was on another that my roguery was discovered and my father struck that blow.
As already stated, my father was of Welsh extraction. It was no less the fact, however, that his original stock was Irish; his grandfather—I believe it to have been that venerable and I trust respected gentleman—coming to Wales from somewhere on the banks of the Blackwater. And my father, excellent man! had vast pride in his Irish lineage and grew never so angry, particularly if a bit heated of his Saturday evening cups, as when one spoke35 of him as offshoot of the rocky land of leeks36 and saintly David.
“What!” he would cry; “because I was born in Wales, do you take me for an onion-eating Welshman? Man, I’m Irish and don’t make that mistake again!”
The vigor37 wherewith his mine-hardened fist smote38 the table as conclusion to this, carried such weight of emphasis that no man was ever found to fall a second time into the error.
For myself, the question whether my ancestors were Welsh or Irish held little interest. I was looking forward not backward, and a hot avarice39 to hunt dollars drove from my bosom40 the last trace of concern touching41 a genealogy42. I would sooner have one year’s run of uninterrupted luck at a gambling table than to know myself a direct descendant of the Plantagenets. Not so my dear old father; to the hour when death closed his eyes—already sightless for ten years—burned out with a blast, they were—he ceased not to regale43 me with tales of that noble line of dauntless Irish from whom we drew our blood. For the ten years following the destruction of his eyes by powder, I saw much of my father, for I established him at a little country tavern44 near enough to the ocean to hear the surf and smell the salt breath of it, and two or three times a week I made shift to get down where he was. And whether my stay was for an hour or for a night—as on Sunday this latter came often to be the chance—he made his pedigree, or what he dreamed was such, the proud burden of his conversation.
Brian Boru, I remember, was an original wellhead of our family. My father was tireless in his settings forth45 of this hero king of Munster; nor did he fail at the close of his story to curse the assassin who struck down Boru at Clontarf. Sometimes to tease him, I’d argue what must have been the weak and primitive46 inconsequence of the royal Boru. I’d suggest that by the sheer narrowness and savagery47 of the hour wherein that monarch48 lived, he could have been nothing more royal than the mere24 king of a kale patch, and probably wore less of authority with still less of revenue and reverence49 than belong commonly with any district leader of Tammany Hall.
At these base doubtings my parent’s wrath50 would mount. He would wax vivid with a picture of the majesty51 and grandeur52 of the great Boru; and of the halls wherein he fed and housed a thousand knights53 compared with whom in riches, magnificence, and chivalrous54 feats55 those warriors56 who came about King Arthur’s round table showed paltry57, mean and low. To crown narration58 he would ascribe to Boru credit as a world’s first law giver and hail him author of the “Code Brian.”
“Shure!” he would say; “he called his scholars and his penmen about him and he made them write down as the wor-rds fell from th’ mouth av him th’ whole of th’ Code Brian; an’ this in tur-rn was a model of th’ Code Napoleon that makes th’ law av Fr-rance to-day.”
It was in vain I pointed59 out that Napoleon’s Code found its roots and as well, its models, in the Corpus Juris Civilis of Justinian—I had learned so much Latin from Father Glennon—and that nowhere in the English law was the Code Brian, as he called it, so much as adverted60 to.
“An’ that’s th’ Sassenach jealousy61 av thim!” he would say. “An’ who was this Justinian? Who, indade, but a thievin’ Roman imp’ror who shtole his laws from King Boru just as th’ Dagoes now are shtealin’ th’ jobs at th’ mines from th’ Irish an’ Welsh lads to whom they belong av r-rights.”
After this I said no more; I did not explain that Justinian and his Pandects and the others of his grand body of civil law were in existence five centuries before the martyred Boru was born. That discovery would have served no purpose beyond my parent’s exasperation62 and earned for myself as well as the world’s historians naught63 save a cataract64 of hard words.
You marvel65, perhaps, why I dwell with such length on the memory of my father—a poor, blind, ignorant miner of coal! I loved the old man; and to this day when my hair, too, is gray and when I may win my wealth and count my wealth and keep my wealth with any of the land, I recall him as the only man for whom I ever felt either love or confidence or real respect.
Yes; I heard much of the blood of the truculent66 yet wise Boru; also of younger ancestors who fought for the Stuarts against Cromwell, against Monmouth, against William; and later in both the “Fifteen” and in the “Forty-five.” Peculiarly was I made to know of my mother’s close connection by blood with the house of that brave Sarsfield “who,” as my father explained, “fairly withstud th’ Dootchman at th’ Boyne; an’ later made him quit befure th’ walls av Limerick.” There was one tradition of the renowned67 Sarsfield which the old gentleman was peculiarly prone68 to relate, and on the head of him who distrusted the legend there was sure to fall a storm. That particular tale concerned the Irish soldier and the sword of Wallace wight.
“Thish William Wallace,” my father was wont69 to say as he approached the myth, “was a joint70 (giant), no less. He was nine fut ’leven inches tall an’ his soord was eight fut foore inches long. It’s in Stirlin’ Cashtle now, an’ there niver was but one man besides Wallace who cud handle it. Th’ Black Douglas an’ all av thim Scotchmen thried it an’ failed. Whin, one day, along comes Gin’ral Patrick Sarsfield—a little bit av a felly, only five fut siven inches tall—an’ he tuk that soord av William Wallace in one hand an’, me son, he made it whishtle.”
But I must press to my first crime of cards or your patience will desert. During those summer months on Tom’s Run when the mines were open and my father and his mates of the pick and blast were earning their narrow pay, it was the habit of himself and four or five other gentlemen of coal to gather in the Toni’s Run Arms when Saturday evening came on, and relax into that amusement dear to Ireland as “forty-five.” Usually they played for a dime71 a corner; on occasional rich evenings the stakes mounted dizzily to two-bits, though this last was not often.
Now I was preyed72 on by a desire to make one at this Saturday contention73, but my father would never consent.
“Jack74,” he’d say; “you’d only lose your money. Shure! you’re nawthin’ but a boy an’ not fit to pla-ay cards with th’ loikes av grown-up men.”
But I persisted; I argued—to myself, you may be certain—while I might be no match for these old professors of forty-five who played the game with never a mistake, if I, like them, played honestly, that the cunning work I meditated75 could not fail to bring me in the wealth.
At last one of the others came to my rescue.
“Let him pla-ay, Mishter Roche,” he said. “Let’s win his money fr-rom him an’ it’ll be a lesson. He’ll not lose much befure he’ll be gla-ad to quit.”
“All right, thin,” replied my father; “you can pla-ay, Jack, till you lose fifty cints; an’ that’ll do ye. Moind now! whin you lose fifty cints you shtop.” And so I was made one of the circle.
As I foresaw, I did not lose the four-bits which my indulgent parent had marked as the limits of farthest sacrifice to my ambitious innocence76. Already I had brought back to Tom’s Run a curious trick or two from Pittsburg. It soon came to be my “deal,” and the moment I got the cards in my hands I abstracted the ace4 of hearts—a most doughty77 creature in this game of forty-five!—and dropped it in my lap, covering the fact from vulgar eyes with a fold of my handkerchief. That was all the chicane I practiced; I kept myself in constant possession of the ace of hearts and played it at a crisis; and at once the wagered dimes78 of the others began to travel into my illicit79 pockets where they made a merry jingle80, I warrant you!
The honest Irish from whom I was filching81 these small tributes never once bethought that I might play them sharp; they attributed my gains to luck and loud was exclamation82 over my good fortune. Time and again, for I was not their equal as a mere player, I’d board the wrong card. When I’d make such a mistake, one of them would cry: “D’ye moind that now! D’ye moind how ba-ad he plays!”
“An’ yet,” another would add, “an’ yet he rakes th’ money!”
Altogether I regarded my entrance into this ten-cent game of forty-five a most felicitous83 affair. I won at every sitting; getting up on some occasions with as much as eight dollars of profit for my evening’s work. In those days I went willingly to Tom’s Run, quitting Pittsburg without a sigh; and such was my ardor84 to fleece these coaldigging comrades of my father—and for that matter, my father, also; for like your true gambler, I played no favorites and was as warm to gather in the dimes of my parent as any—that I was usually found waiting about the forty-five table when, following supper, they appeared. And it all went favorably with me for perhaps a dozen sittings; my aggregate85 gains must have reached the mighty86 sum of sixty dollars. Of a merry verity87! silver was at high tide in my hands!
One evening as the half dozen devoted to the science of forty-five drew up to the table—myself a stripling boy, the others bearded miner men—my father complained of an ache in his head or an ache in his stomach or some malady88 equally cogent89, and said he would not play.
“I’ll have me poipe an’ me mug av beer,” he said, “an’ resht mesilf a bit. It’s loike I’ll feel betther afther a whoile an’ then I’ll take a haand.”
Play began, while my suffering father with his aches, his tobacco and his beer, sat nursing himself at a near-by table. I lost no time in acquiring my magic ace of hearts and at once the stream of usual fortune set in to flow my way.
Ten years, yes, one year later, my suspicions touching my father’s illness and his reasons for this unprecedented90 respite91 from the cares of forty-five would have stood more on tiptoe. As it was, however, it never assailed92 me as a thought that I had become the subject of ancestral doubts. I cheated on and on, and made hay while the sun shone with never a cloud in the sky.
It was not noticed by me, but following a halfhour’s play and while I was shuffling93 the cards for a deal, my parent stole noiselessly behind my chair. He reached under my arm and lifted the corner of the concealing94 handkerchief which filled my lap. Horrors! there lay the tell-tale ace of hearts!
Even then I realized nothing and knew not that my villainy was made bare. This news, however, was not long in its arrival.
“Niver did I r-raise a boy to be a r-robber!” roared my father.
Coincident with this remark, the paternal95 hand—not the lightest nor least formidable on Tom’s Run—dealt me a buffet96 on the head that lifted me from my sinful chair and hurled97 me across the room and against the wall full fifteen feet away. My teeth clattered98, my wits reeled, while my ill-gotten silver danced blithely99 to metallic100 music of its own.
“Niver did I r-raise a boy to be a r-robber!” again shouted my father. Then seizing me by the collar, he lifted me to my feet. “Put all your money on the ta-able!” he cried; “put ivry groat av it!”
There was no escape; I was powerless in the talons101 of an inexorable fate. My pockets yielded a harvest of hardby seventy-five dollars—something more than the total of my winnings—and this was placed in the center of the table which had so lately witnessed my skill. An even distribution was then made by my father among the victims, each getting his share of the recovered treasure; my father keeping none for himself though urged by the others to that end.
“No,” said my father; “I’ll touch niver a penny av it. You take th’ money; I’ll make shift that the dishgrace of bein’ fa-ather to a rapparee shall do for me share!”
With that, he withdrew from the scene of my downfall, carrying me fast in his clutch; and later—bathed in tears of pain and shame—I was dragged into the presence of my mother and Father Glennon by the ignominious102 ear.
It did not cure me of cards, however; I ran the whole gamut103 of gambling and won dangerous prominence104 as a sharper of elevation105 and rank. To-morrow evening, should you care to listen, I may unfold concerning other of my adventures; I may even relate—as a tale most to my diplomatic glory, perhaps—how I brought Casino Joe to endow me with that great secret, richer, in truth! than the mines of Peru! of “How to Tell the Last Four.”
“Speakin’ of gamblin’,” observed the Old Cattleman when the Red Nosed Gentleman had come to a full stop, “I’ll bet a bloo stack that as we-alls sets yere talkin’, the games is goin’ brisk an’ hot in Wolfville. Thar won’t be no three foot of snow to put a damper on trade an’ hobble a gent’s energies in Arizona.” This last with a flush of pride.
“Does everybody gamble in the West?” asked the Sour Gentleman.
“Every sport who’s got the dinero does,” responded the Old Cattleman. “White folks, Injuns an’ Mexicans is right now at roulette an’ faro bank an’ monte as though they ain’t got a minute to live. I hates to concede ’em so much darin’, but the Mexicans, speshul, is zealous106 for specyoolations. Which they’d shore wager21 their immortal souls on the turn of a kyard, only a Greaser’s soul don’t own no market valyoo.”
“If you will,” said the Jolly Doctor, “you might tell us something of Mexicans and their ways, their labors107 and relaxations—their loves and their hates. I’d be pleased to hear of those interesting people from one who knows them so thoroughly108.”
“Which I shore knows ’em,” returned the Old Cattleman, “an’ as I concedes how each gent present oughter b’ar his share of the entertainment, I’ll tell you of Chiquita of Chaparita.”
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1
unripe
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| adj.未成熟的；n.未成熟 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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ace
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| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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inborn
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| adj.天生的，生来的，先天的 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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pillage
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| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
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11
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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14
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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deftness
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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craftsman
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| n.技工，精于一门工艺的匠人 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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wagered
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| v.在（某物）上赌钱，打赌( wager的过去式和过去分词 )；保证，担保 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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scurvy
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| adj.下流的，卑鄙的，无礼的；n.坏血病 | |
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dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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replete
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| adj.饱满的，塞满的；n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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leeks
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| 韭葱( leek的名词复数 ) | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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genealogy
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| n.家系，宗谱 | |
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regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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50
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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52
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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53
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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54
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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57
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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58
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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adverted
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| 引起注意（advert的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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66
truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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doughty
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| adj.勇猛的，坚强的 | |
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dimes
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| n.（美国、加拿大的）10分铸币( dime的名词复数 ) | |
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illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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filching
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| v.偷（尤指小的或不贵重的物品）( filch的现在分词 ) | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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felicitous
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| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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verity
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| n.真实性 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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cogent
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| adj.强有力的，有说服力的 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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talons
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| n.（尤指猛禽的）爪( talon的名词复数 )；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物；锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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103
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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105
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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106
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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107
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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