For myself I conceived this to be the propitious14 moment to open a faro room of my own. I had been for long of the guild15 of gamblers yet had never soared to the brave heights of proprietorship17. I had bucked19 the games, but never dealt them. It came to me as a thought that in the beating midst of this moral tempest dwelt my opportunity. Had I chosen a day of police apathy—an hour of gambling security—for such a move, I would have been set upon by every established proprietor18. He would have resented my rivalry20 as a game warden21 would the intromissions of a poacher. And I’d have been wiped out—devoured horn and hide and hoof22 as by a band of wolves.
Under these new conditions of communal23 virtue, however, and with the clan24 of former proprietors16 broken and dispersed25, the field was free of menace from within; I would face no risk more grievous than the constabulary. These latter I believed I might for a season avoid; particularly if I unveiled my venture in regions new and not theretofore the home of such lawless speculation26.
Filled with these thoughts, I secured apartments sufficiently27 obscure and smuggled28 in the paraphernalia29 under cloud of night. The room was small—twenty feet square; there was space for no more than one faro table, and with such scant30 furnishing I went to work. For reasons which now escape me I called my place “The Shotgun.”
Heretofore I gave you assurance of the lapse31 of years since last I gambled at any game save the Wall Street game of stocks. I quit cards for that they were disreputable and the gains but small. Stocks, on the contrary, are endorsed32 as “respectable;” at stocks one may gamble without forfeiture33 of position; also, there exist no frontiers to the profits which a cunning stock plan well executed may bring.
In my old simpler days, I well recall those defences of the pure gambler wherein my regard indulged. Elia once separated humanity into two tribes—those who borrow and those who lend. In my younger philosophy I also saw two septs: those who lose and those who win. To me all men were gamblers. Life itself was one continuous game of chance; and the stakes, that shelter and raiment and food and drink to compose the body’s bulwark34 against an instant conquest by Death. Of the inherent morality of gambling I nurtured35 no doubts. Or, at the worst, I felt certain of its comparative morality when laid beside such commerces as banks and markets and fields of plain barter36 and sale. There is no trade (I said) save that of the hands which is held by the tether of any honesty. The carpenter sawing boards, the smith who beats out a horseshoe, the mason busy with trowel and mortar37 on sun-blistered scaffolds, hoarsely38 shouting “More bricks!” they in their way of life are honest. They are bound to integrity because they couldn’t cheat if they would. But is the merchant selling the false for the real—the shoddy for the true—is the merchant whose advertisements are as so many false pretences39 paid for by the line—is he more honest than the one who cheats with cards? Is the lawyer looking looks of wisdom to hide the emptiness of his ignorance? Is the doctor, profound of mien40, who shakes portentous41 head, medicining a victim not because he has a malady42 but because he has a million dollars?
And if it become a question of fashion, why then, age in and age out, the gambler has been often noble and sometimes royal. In the days of the Stuarts, or later among the dull ones of Hanover, was it the peasant or the prince who wagered43 his gold at cards? Why man! every royal court was a gambling house; every king, save one—and he disloved and at the last insane—a gambler. Are not two-thirds of the homes of our American nobility—our folk of millions and Fifth Avenue—replete of faro and roulette and the very hotbed of a poisonous bridge whist? Fy, man, fy! you who denounce gambling but preach your own plebeianism—proclaim your own vulgarity! The gambler has been ever the patrician44.
With but one table, whereat I would preside as dealer45, I required no multitude to man The Shotgun. I called to my aid three gentlemen of fortune—seedy and in want they were and glad to earn a dollar. One was to be sentinel at the door, one would perch46 Argus-like on the lookout47’s stool, while the third,—an old suspicious camp-follower of Chance,—kept the case. This latter, cautious man! declined my service unless I put steel bars on the only door, and as well on the only window. These he conceived to be some safeguard against invasions. They were not; but I spent money to put them in place to the end that his fluttered nerves be stilled and he won to my standard. And at that, he later pursued his business as case-keeper with an ear on the door and an eye on the small barred window, sitting the while half aloof48 from the table and pushing the case-buttons as the cards fell from the box with a timid forefinger49 and as though he proposed no further immersion50 in current crime than was absolutely demanded by the duties of his place. He sat throughout the games a picture of apprehension51.
For myself, and to promote my profits, I gave both my people and my customers every verbal bond of safety. The story went abroad that I was “protected;” that no wolf of the police dared so much as glance at flock of mine. The Shotgun was immune of arrest, so ran the common tale, and as much as leer and look and smile and shrug52 of shoulder might furnish them I gave the story wings.
This public theory of safety was necessary to success. In the then hectic53 conditions, and briskly in the rear of a stern suppression of resorts that had flourished for decades unshaken of the law, wanting this feeling of security there would have come not one dollar to take its hopeful chances at The Shotgun. As it was, however, the belief that I lived amply “protected” took prompt deep root. And the fact that The Shotgun opened in the face of storms which smote without pity upon others, was itself regarded as proof beyond dispute. No one would court such dangers unless his footing were as unshakable as Gibraltar. Thereupon folk with a heart for faro came blithely54 and stood four deep about my one table; vast was the business I accomplished55 and vast were the sums changed in. And behold56! I widely prospered57.
When I founded The Shotgun, I was richer of hope than of money; but fortune smiled and within a fortnight my treasure was told by thousands. Indeed, my patrons played as play those who are starved to gamble; that recess58 of faro enforced of the police had made them hawk-hungry. And my gains rolled in.
While I fostered the common thought that no interference of the law would occur and The Shotgun was sacred ground, I felt within my own breast a sense of much unsafety. Damocles with his sword—hung of a hair and shaken of a breeze—could have been no more eaten of unease. I knew that I was wooing disaster, challenging a deepest peril60. The moment The Shotgun became a part of police knowledge, I was lost.
Still, I dealt on; the richness of my rewards the inducement and the optimism of the born gambler giving me courage to proceed. It fed my vanity, too, and hugely pleased my pride to be thus looked upon as eminent61 in my relations with the powers that ruled. They were proud, even though parlous62 days, those days when I ran The Shotgun.
While I walked the field of my enterprise like a conqueror63, I was not without the prudence64 that taketh account in advance and prepareth for a fall. Aside from the table whereon dwelt the layout, box and check rack, and those half-dozen chairs which encircled it, the one lone65 piece of furniture which The Shotgun boasted was a rotund lounge. Those who now and then reposed66 themselves thereon noted67 and denounced its nard unfitness. There was neither softness nor spring to that lounge; to sit upon it was as though one sat upon a Saratoga trunk. But it was in a farthest corner and distant as much as might be from the game; and therefore there arose but few to try its indurated merits and complain.
That lounge of unsympathetic seat was my secret—my refuge—my last resort. I alone was aware of its construction; and that I might be thus alone, I had been to hidden and especial pains to bring it from New York myself. That lounge was no more, no less than a huge, capacious box. You might lift the seat and it would open like a trunk. Within was ample room for one to lie at length. Once in one could let down the cover and lock it on the inside; that done, there again it stood to the casual eye, a lounge, nothing save a lounge and neither hint nor token of the fugitive68 within.
My plan to save myself when the crash should come was plain and sure. There were but two lights—gas jets, both—in The Shotgun; these were immediately above the table, low hung and capped with green shades to save the eyes of players. The light was reflected upon the layout; all else was in the shadow. This lack of light was no drawback to my popularity. Your folk who gamble cavil69 not at shadows for themselves so long as cards and deal-box are kept strongly in the glare. In event of a raid, it was my programme to extinguish the two lights—a feat70 easily per-formable from the dealer’s chair—and seizing the money in the drawer, grope my way under cover of darkness for that excellent lounge and conceal72 myself. It would be the work of a moment; the folk would be huddled73 about the table and not about the lounge; the time lost by the police while breaking through those defences of bars and bolts would be more than enough.
By the time the lights were again turned on and the Goths in possession, I would have disappeared. No one would know how and none know where. When the blue enemy, despairing of my apprehension, had at last withdrawn74 with what prisoners had been made, I would be left alone. I might then uncover myself and take such subsequent flight as best became my liberty and its continuance.
Often I went over this plan in my thoughts—a fashion of mental rehearsal75, as it were—and the more I considered the more certain I became that when the pinch arrived it would not fail. As I’ve stated, none shared with me my secret of that hinged and hollow couch; it was my insurance—my cave of retreat in any tornado76 of the law; and the knowledge thereof steadied me and aided my courage to compose those airs of cheerful confidence which taught others safety and gave countenance77 to the story of my unqualified and sure “protection!” Alas78! for the hour that unmasked me; from that moment The Shotgun fell away; my stream of golden profits ran dry; from a spectacle of reverence79 and respect I became the nine-day byword of my tribe!
It was a crowded, thriving midnight at The Shotgun. I had been running an uninterrupted quartette of months; and having had good luck to the point of miracles, my finances were flourishing with five figures in their plethoric80 count. From a few poor hundreds, my “roll” when I snapped the rubber band about it and planted it deep within the safety of my pocket, held over fifty thousand dollars. Quite a fortune; and so I thought myself.
It was, I repeat, a busy, winning midnight at The Shotgun. There were doubtless full forty visitors in the cramped81 room. These were crowded about the table, for the most part playing, reaching over each other’s shoulders or under each other’s elbows, any way and every way to get their wagers82 on the layout. I was dealing83, while to right and left sat my henchmen of the lookout and the case.
As on every evening, I lived on the feather-edge of apprehension, fearing a raid. My eye might be on the thirteen cards and the little fortunes they carried, but my ear was ever alert for a first dull footfall that would tell of destruction on its lowering way.
There had been four hours of brisk, remunerative84 play—for the game began at eight—when, in the middle of a deal, there came the rush of heavy feet and a tumult85 of stumblings and blunderings on the stair. It was as if folk unaccustomed to the way—it being pitch dark on the stairway for caution’s sake—and in vast eagerness to reach the door, had tripped and fallen. Also, if one might judge from the uproar86 and smothered87, deep profanity of many voices there were a score engaged.
To my quick intelligence, itself for long on the rack of expectancy88 and therefore doubly keen, there seemed but one answer to the question, of that riot on the stair. It was the police; the Philistines89 were upon me; my gold mine of The Shotgun had become the target of a raid!
It was the labor90 of an instant. With both hands I turned out the lights; then stuffing my entire fortune into my pockets I began to push through the ranks of bewildered gentlemen who stood swearing in frightened undertones expecting evil. Silently and with a cat’s stealth, I found my way in the pitch blackness to the lounge. As I had foreseen, no one was about it to discover or to interfere59. Softly I raised the cover; in a moment I was within. Lying on my side for comfort’s sake, I again turned ear to passing events. I had locked the lounge and believed myself insured.
Meanwhile, within the room and in the hall beyond my grated door, the tumult gathered and grew. There came various exclamations91.
“Who doused92 those glims?”
“Light up, somebody.”
Also, there befell a volley of blows and kicks and thumps93 on The Shotgun’s iron portals; and gruff commands:
“Open the door!”
Then some one produced a match and relighted the gas. I might tell that by a ray about the size and color of a wheat-straw which suddenly bored its yellow way through a hole in my shelter. The clamor still proceeded at the door; it seemed to augment94.
Since there could be no escape—for every soul saw himself caught like a rat in a trap—the door was at last unbarred and opened, desperately95. Of what avail would it be to force the arresting party to break its way? In despair the door was thrown wide and each of those within braced96 himself to meet his fate. After all, to visit a gambling place was not the great crime; the cornered ones might feel fairly secure. It was the “proprietor” for whom the law kept sharpest tooth!
When the door opened, it opened to the admission of a most delightful97 disappointment. There appeared no police; no grim array of those sky-hued watch-dogs of the city’s peace and order rushed through in search of quarry98. Instead came innocently, deviously99, and with uncertain, shuffling100 steps, five separate drunken gentlemen. There had been a dinner; they had fed deeply, drunk deeply; it was now their pleasure to relax themselves at play. That was all; they had sought The Shotgun with the best of motives101; the confusion on the stair was the offspring of darkness and drink when brought to a conjunction. Now they were within, and reading in the faces about them—even through the mists of their condition—the terrors their advent102 inspired, the visiting sots were much abashed103; they stood silent, and like the lamb before the shearer104, they were dumb and opened not their mouths.
But discovering a danger past, the general mood soon changed. There was a space of tacit staring; then came a rout105 of laughter. Every throat, lately so parched106, now shouted with derision. The common fear became the common jeer107.
Then up started the surprised question:
“Where’s Jack108?”
It had origin with one to be repeated by twenty.
“Where’s Jack?”
The barred window was still barred; I had not gone through the door; how had I managed my disappearance109? It was witchery!—or like the flitting of a ghost! Even in my refuge I could feel the awe71 and the chill that began to creep about my visitors as they looked uneasily and repeated, as folk who touch some graveyard110 mystery:
“Where’s Jack?”
There was no help; fate held me in a corner and never a crack of escape! Shame-faced, dust-sprinkled and perspiring111 like a harvest hand—for my hiding place was not Nova Zembla—I threw back the top of the lounge and stood there—the image of confusion—the “man with a pull”—the ally of the powers—the “protected” proprietor of The Shotgun! There was a moment of silence; and next fell a whirlwind of mirth.
There is no argument for saying more. I was laughed out of Providence and into New York. The Shotgun was laughed out of existence. And with it all, I too, laughed; for was it not good, even though inadvertent comedy? Also, was it not valuable comedy to leave me better by half a hundred thousand dollars—that comedy of The Shotgun? And thereupon, while I closed my game, I opened my mouth widely and laughed with the others. In green-cloth circles the story is still told; and whenever I encounter a friend of former days, I’m inevitably112 recalled to my lounge-holdout and that midnight stampede of The Shotgun.
“That’s where the west,” observed the Old Cattleman, who had given delighted ear to the Red Nosed Gentleman’s story, “that’s where the west has the best of the east. In Arizona a passel of folks engaged in testin’ the demerits of farobank ain’t runnin’ no more resks of the constables113 than they be of chills an’ fever.”
“There are laws against gambling in the west?” This from the Jolly Doctor.
“Shore, thar’s laws.”
“Why, then, aren’t they enforced?”
“This yere’s the reason,” responded the Old Cattleman. “Thar’s so much more law than force, that what force exists is wholly deevoted to a round-up of rustlers an’ stage hold-ups an’ sech. Besides, it’s the western notion to let every gent skin his own eel11, an’ the last thing thought of is to protect you from yourse’f. No kyard sharp can put a crimp in you onless you freely offers him a chance, an’ if you-all is willin’, why should the public paint for war? In the east every gent is tryin’ to play some other gent’s hand; not so in that tolerant region styled the west. Which it ain’t too much to say that folks get killed—an’ properly—in the west for possessin’ what the east calls virchoos.” And here the Old Cattleman shook his head sagely114 over a western superiority. “The east mixes itse’f too much in a gent’s private affairs. Now if Deef Smith an’ Colonel Morton” he concluded, “had ondertook to pull off their dooel in the east that Texas time, the east would have come down on ’em like a failin’ star an’ squelched115 it.”
“And what was this duel116 you speak of?” asked the Sour Gentleman. “I, for one, would be most ready to hear the story.1’
“Which it’s the story of ‘When the Capitol Was Moved.’”
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1
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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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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4
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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5
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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6
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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7
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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8
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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9
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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10
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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13
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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14
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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15
guild
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| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
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16
proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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17
proprietorship
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| n.所有（权）；所有权 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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19
bucked
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| adj.快v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的过去式和过去分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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20
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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21
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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23
communal
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| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
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24
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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28
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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29
paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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30
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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31
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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32
endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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33
forfeiture
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| n.（名誉等）丧失 | |
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34
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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35
nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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36
barter
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| n.物物交换，以货易货，实物交易 | |
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37
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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39
pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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40
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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41
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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42
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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43
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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44
patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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45
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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46
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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47
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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48
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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49
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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50
immersion
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| n.沉浸；专心 | |
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51
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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52
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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53
hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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54
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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55
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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56
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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57
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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59
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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60
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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parlous
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| adj.危险的，不确定的，难对付的 | |
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63
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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68
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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cavil
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| v.挑毛病，吹毛求疵 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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71
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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73
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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74
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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76
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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78
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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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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plethoric
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| adj.过多的，多血症的 | |
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81
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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82
wagers
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| n.赌注，用钱打赌( wager的名词复数 )v.在（某物）上赌钱，打赌( wager的第三人称单数 )；保证，担保 | |
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83
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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remunerative
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| adj.有报酬的 | |
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85
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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87
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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philistines
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| n.市侩，庸人( philistine的名词复数 )；庸夫俗子 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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doused
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| v.浇水在…上( douse的过去式和过去分词 )；熄灯[火] | |
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thumps
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| n.猪肺病；砰的重击声( thump的名词复数 )v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的第三人称单数 ) | |
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augment
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| vt.(使)增大，增加，增长，扩张 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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98
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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99
deviously
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| 弯曲地，绕道地 | |
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100
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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101
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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102
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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103
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
shearer
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| n.剪羊毛的人；剪切机 | |
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105
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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106
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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107
jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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108
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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109
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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110
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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111
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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112
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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113
constables
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| n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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114
sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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115
squelched
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| v.发吧唧声，发扑哧声( squelch的过去式和过去分词 )；制止；压制；遏制 | |
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116
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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