XIV IT WAS A GREAT DEAL

“One o’ the commonest failin’s o’ poor fallen humanity is a lack o’ self-control,” said old man Greenhut, as he turned back from the door of his tavern, out of which he had just thrown an unfortunate stranger, and walked around to his place behind the bar rubbing and slapping his hands together, as if to brush off some imaginary taint that might be supposed to have attached to the stranger’s clothes.

The stranger, who didn’t seem to be in good health, and was far from being well dressed, had shuffled in a few moments before and walked up to the stove with a deprecatory air, saying nothing to anybody and warming himself in an apologetic fashion as if he realized that he had no right to the heat and good cheer that radiated from the red-hot sides of that comfortable piece of furniture. Nobody said anything to him, and he coughed once or twice, timidly, before he ventured to walk over to the bar and accost the old man. “Squire,” he said, “I am half-sick, an’ I need a glass o’ liquor powerful bad, but I hain’t got any money. Kin you trust me for a drink? I’ll pay ye for it, honest. I hain’t never beat a man out of a cent in my life, an’ I’ll pay, sure. I wouldn’t ask ye for it, on’y I’m reely sick.”

The old man looked at him steadily while he was talking, but he answered never a word. Slowly he reached under the bar and the stranger’s face brightened up. He thought the old man was reaching for a bottle. After hesitating a little the old man came out from behind the bar. Seizing the unresisting stranger by the collar he rushed him violently to the door, and half-threw and half-kicked him out. Then breaking the silence for the first time since the stranger’s entrance, he delivered himself of the reflections recorded above as he walked slowly back to his place. He stood there for some minutes, evidently thinking of what he had said, and then, business being slack for the moment, he relighted his cigar and came out again to his favourite seat by the window.

“Self-control,” he said, presently, “is God’s best gift to man. The fellow that kin always control himself under all circumstances is the one that’s goin’ to win the pot. Now take that ar shiftless bum that just come in here an’ asked me to supply his necessities at my expense. If he’d ’a’ had any self-control he never would have allowed hisself to be mastered by an accursed longin’ for liquor without the price of it, an’ if I hadn’t ’a’ had my self-control right along with me, like as not I’d ’a’ let him have it. I’ve knowed men to do just such fool things. An’ thar he’d ’a’ been saddled with a debt that he wouldn’t never ’a’ paid, an’ I’d ’a’ been just that much out.

“I’ve often thought that the Lord must ’a’ meant the game o’ poker as a instrument o’ savin’ grace in the way o’ cultivatin’ those virtues ’thout which a man hain’t fit to live, nor yet capable o’ gettin’ on in the world. Now poker’ll teach a man self-control better’n almost anything else I know. You never seen a poker player what knowed the first principles o’ the game, givin’ way to no weaknesses.

“ ‘Minds me of a game I see played once on the old River Belle, comin’ down the river just after the spring floods o’ ’76. There wa’n’t no such games then as there used to be before the war, or even for a few years after. I don’t know what the reason is, but poker don’t ’pear to be respected, now, like it used to be. ’Pears like the risin’ generation hain’t none o’ the moral stamina that folks had when I was younger. Call poker immoral, I’ve heard tell, just as if ’twasn’t the greatest educator an’ highest moral training known to civilization.

“There was a good bit o’ money up in that game, for there was four o’ the nerviest men I ever knowed in it, an’ every one of ’em was out for blood. Two of ’em, Jim Waters an’ Abe Simpson, was St. Louis sports that always travelled together. Jim Blivins was another. He come from Memphis, but he’d kind o’ run hisself out o’ town an’ mostly travelled the river. ’Twarn’t that he was crooked, partic’lar. He played as fair as most of ’em did, an’ used to say that he never stacked the cards ’thouten he had reason to think that somebody else in the game was up to the same sort o’ deviltry. But the truth was he played too strong a game for the Memphis crowd, an’ it got so that nobody that knowed him would play with him, so just naturally he had to seek for new pastures an’ strange lambs. The fourth man was a feller I never seed afore, though I come to know him well enough afterward. ’Twas George Dunning, a chap f’m somewheres up in Iowa that had took to the river for business an’ somehow had struck up a friendship with Blivins. They was playin’ partners at the time, though I didn’t know it, an’ just naturally they wasn’t a-shoutin’ it out from the housetops, the same bein’ the upper deck in case of steamboats. Incidentally there was another feller in the game. He was a cattle-dealer from Texas, Dunnigan by name, that had just been up north sellin’ a slew o’ cattle, an’ was goin’ home with a wad that wouldn’t fit comfortable in his inside pocket.

“The other four was just naturally intendin’ to get hold o’ that wad, but there was some difference of opinion amongst ’em about it. Waters an’ Simpson was reckonin’ on takin’ it back to St. Louis with ’em, an’ Blivins an’ Dunning was thinkin’ o’ gettin’ off at Memphis an’ dividin’ up there. What Dunnigan was figurin’ on I don’t know, but I reckon he expected to draw compound interest on his money durin’ the time he was on the boat.

“By the time we got below Cairo the game was goin’ on under a full head o’ steam. The professionals was all well fixed for money an’ there wasn’t no small stakes played for. Nothin’ was said about a limit, neither, nor there warn’t no table stakes rules. It was just a case o’ bettin’ anything you damn please, an’ either layin’ down or makin’ a bigger bluff every time the other feller peeped.

“White chips was a dollar, reds was five, an’ blues was fifty, makin’ a tol’able stiff game even with chips, but they was a good many hundred-dollar bills lyin’ on the table ’fore they’d been playin’ long, an’ there was a feelin’ among them that was lookin’ on that bigger money than that was liable to be flashed ’most any time.

“It was reely surprisin’, seein’ that the game was that sort, an’ the men playin’ was so much in earnest, that there was nothin’ decisive-like in the fust day’s play. You’d ha’ thought that somebody’d gone broke within a few hours, anyhow, but whether ’twas that they wasn’t in no hurry, seein’ they had several days ahead of ’em, or whether ’twas that they was too much for one another, I don’t know. Anyhow, they was a-playin’ from about four o’clock in the evenin’ till after midnight, an’ nobody was more’n five or six hundred dollars out that fust day.

“You see they all played cautious. I’ve often noticed that when men are playin’ in a real important game, with plenty o’ time to play in, they’ll play a much more cautious game than they will if there’s only a few dollars, or a few hundred in sight. Anyhow, I didn’t see no bet o’ more than five hundred pushed up while I was lookin’ on, an’ that was most o’ the time, an’ I didn’t see that called nor raised on’y once. Blivins put up five hundred once on three queens, an’ Dunnigan, who had drawed one card, raised him five hundred, so Blivins just naturally laid down, seein’ ’twas a jack-pot an’ Dunnigan hadn’t opened when he had a chance, but had raised once before the draw, showin’ he had hopes of a flush or a straight.

“Well, as I said, they played till about twelve o’clock an’ nobody was hurt much. Then Dunnigan said he guessed he’d turn in, an’ nobody made any objections, only they all seemed to understand they was to go on with the game the next day.

“I must say that there Dunnigan was a foxy player. He laid down his cards a good many times that second day when an ordinary man would have played ’em, provin’ conclusive that he knowed the game. You see he was reely better off in the game than he would have been if the other fellers hadn’t been watchin’ one another the way they was. Ef either two of the four had drawed out o’ the game I don’t reckon he’d ha’ lasted more’n perhaps an hour or so, though as I said, he understood the game well enough, but just naturally he wasn’t on to the reely subtle refinements o’ scientific manipulation, an’ any one o’ them four could ha’ stacked cards on him without him knowin’ it. But the p’int was that Waters an’ Simpson was watchin’ Blivins an’ Dunning with more anxiety than a hen gives to a brood o’ ducklin’s, and Blivins an’ Dunning was returnin’ the compliment most amazin’ earnest like. Nary a one of ’em dasted to deal crooked, an’ as for tryin’ to ring in marked cards, any such trick as that would ha’ just been suicide.

“After some hours’ play the second day, though, all hands seemed to get impatient. ’Twa’n’t that they played any less cautious, but they seemed to be gettin’ on to one another’s play better an’ better all the time an’ feelin’ as though they was justified in playin’ to the strength o’ their hands more’n they had. I noticed they begun callin’ one another once in awhile, an’ a call had been ruther a scarce thing before that. Dunnigan was caught bluffin’ most outrageous once, on a busted flush, but nobody even smiled. Blivins had called him on two pairs, an’ he raked in a pot of near a thousand dollars just as if nothin’ had happened.

“All of a sudden came a most astonishin’ deal. I reckon it was honest enough, for, as I said, they was a-watchin’ one another like cats, an’ slick as they all was, there warn’t one of ’em but knowed the others would catch him if he tried to deal crooked. So just naturally we had to assume it was honest, anyway, although Dunning dealt the cards, an’ he was one o’ the best manipulators I ever see.

“What made it surprisin’ was that the cards had been a-runnin’ most almighty slow up to that time, as they will sometimes for a long spell. There had been a few good hands, o’ course, but there hadn’t been a real struggle worth talkin’ about in all those hours o’ play. This time, though, there was struggle enough to satisfy the most sanguinary.

“Dunning dealt, as I said, an’ Waters had the age. He got four hearts with the ace and king at the head. Blivins was next player an’ he caught three queens. Dunnigan was next an’ he found kings and eights in his hand. Simpson was next an’ he got four spades—little ones. An’ Dunning dealt himself four ten-spots, pat.

“That of itself was a tol’able noteworthy deal, but the draw was still more astonishin’. They’d all come in as a matter o’ course, an Waters had just naturally raised it a blue chip. That give Dunning a chance, an’ he raised it a hundred dollars. I asked him a long time afterward how ’twas he didn’t raise the first round, an’ he said he couldn’t exactly say, on’y he had a sort o’ hunch that Waters would raise, as he did, an’ so give him all the better show. Everybody stood this raise also, and then they called for cards.

“Waters got his fifth heart. Blivins caught the fourth queen. Dunnigan made a king full, an’ Simpson got nothin’. Dunning, o’ course, drew a dummy to his four tens.

“If ever there was a kettle o’ fish that was. Blivins bet five hundred on the go off, an’ Dunnigan raised him five hundred as a simple act o’ Christian duty, havin’ a king full against one two-card and three one-card draws, Simpson threw down his cards, havin’ no chance to do anything else. Dunning just naturally put up a thousand dollars more, an’ Waters was between the devil an’ the deep blue sea.

“Just naturally he says to himself that Blivins an’ Dunning was a-playin’ whipsaw an’ cal’latin’ to scare him out right away. Dunnigan was the man he was after, same as the others was, an’ he reckoned he could beat Dunnigan, but he didn’t see how he was goin’ to stand up against the other two. Talk about your self-control. There was a man that felt certain in his own mind that he had the winnin’ hand when he reely had the poorest one in the game. He was low man for fair, but you couldn’t ha’ made him think so just then. An’ ’twas sharper than a serpent’s tooth to see the other two fellers gettin’ away with Dunnigan’s money, as he could see they was likely to do.

“What did he do? Why, he throwed down his cards o’ course, like a good player as he was. He knowed that, although the chances was that he had the best hand, he was goin’ to have to play that hand so high that the three chances against him made it poor play to back it. An’ mind you, ’twarn’t honest play he was lookin’ for, but a whipsaw game by two men with plenty of money an’ more nerve.

“Blivins couldn’t do no less than raise it another thousand, an’ it was up to Dunnigan to make the play of his life. He thought he was makin’ it when he saw both raises an’ went two thousand better. I don’t know but what I might ha’ done the same thing, but I’ve played poker now longer’n I had then, an’ I’ve seen four of a kind out a good many times. ’Pears to me like I’d ha’ sensed somethin’ o’ the sort when I see two good players bettin’ like them two did, an’ one of ’em drawin’ two cards an’ the other only one.

“Anyhow, he raised, as I said, an’ then o’ course he was their cold meat. All they had to do was to wait on one another, so Dunning he raised an’ Blivins chipped along. Dunnigan naturally thought he had one of ’em beat, an’ he raised again, hoping to scare the other one out. He made his raise five thousand this time, as was entirely proper, seein’ he’d made up his mind to bet, but he was considerable surprised when Dunning fingered his roll an’ called for a show on two thousand, which was all he had left, an’ then Blivins makes good an’ goes him five thousand more.

“That was a little more than poor fallen human nature could stand. Just naturally he was certain that Blivins was bluffing, an’ havin’ more money in his pocket than was reely good for him, he makes another bluff hisself, havin’, as I say, parted entirely with his self-control.

“Blivins was well fixed, too, though, an’ he comes back at him again, so Dunnigan see it was plump foolishness to raise any more, an’ he called. I’ve heerd people criticize his play, sayin’ that he’d either oughter laid down or raised again, but I’m free to say that I don’t agree with ’em. A king full was good enough to call on, but nothin’ short of a straight flush was good enough to raise on against Blivins’s play, according to my notions.

“I’ve heerd people say, too, that they didn’t believe Dunning dealt them cards honest, but I seen the expression on his face when Blivins showed down four queens against his four tens an’ raked the pot. If he warn’t genuinely surprised I never see any one that was.

“That broke up the game, for the cattle-dealer didn’t want to go plumb broke an’ he dropped out, so there wern’t no use in prolongin’ the struggle. But if ever a man had cause to be thankful for his self-control, Jim Waters had when he laid down his ace flush.”