It was one o’clock in the morning. The Coleman lantern shone through the window, giving a bit of outside light to a raccoon busily scattering the content of the garbage bag left next to the kitchen door. Inside the cabin, two men slouched in their chairs. A third had his elbows on the poker table and his head in his hands. They appeared to be dispirited and quietly contemplating some painful experience. The fourth man, Major Nathaniel Peabody was smiling and stacking the chips piled up before him.

      “Gentlemen,” he said as he rattled the ice cubes in his empty glass, “Look upon it as a learning experience. When you compare the instruction you’ve received tonight with the costs of university tuitions, the lessons have been quite inexpensive.”

      The silent hunters regained their voices. One of them snorted and complained: “The only thing I’ve learned is to avoid decks of cards that refuse to help me when I hold four card flushes”.

      The man at the ice chest, now refilling Peabody’s glass, said: “The Poker Gods are the ones who failed to smile upon me. They’re the ones who have done me in.”

      Without looking up, the hunter with his head in his hands muttered: “We should replace that Beware of the Dog sign with one that says “Beware of the Peabody”.

      The Major showed no reaction to the unkind statement. “For nearly a century,” he explained, “psychiatrists have insisted personal responsibility no longer exists. They believe the ax murderer, who attempts to solve the world’s over-population problem in his own special way, is not responsible for his acts. Blame, they tell us, should be assigned to someone else - usually the killer’s parents who must have engaged in forcing him into potty training at too early an age.

      “Ever since our prehistoric progenitor, Homo habilis, developed the opposing thumb and, thus, was able to shuffle a deck of cards, gambling losses have been blamed on bad luck. Shooting both barrels and missing every one of the ducks in the flock wheeling over your decoys has also consistently been blamed on bad luck.

      “Yes,” he continued, “when things go wrong, it is the well established and time honored practice to point the finger of blame at someone else. However, I must disagree with you. I believe you err in blaming your collective misfortune at the poker table on bad luck, on the perversity of a deck of cards, on the Poker Gods or, for reasons I am unable to comprehend, on me.

      “Anthropologists believe the dinosaurs evolved into modern day birds. Think of it. It’s truly an amazing feat. However, the genus Homo sapiens has accomplished an even more amazing achievement. It developed the concepts of Faith and Hope and Charity, the three most admirable qualities found in the human being. The facility to believe - to have faith, the ability to hope and the capacity to extend charity distinguishes mankind from the lower animals.

      “It would appear the biblical pronouncement promoting Faith, Hope and Charity has not fallen on deaf ears. Tonight each of you has confidently confirmed your belief in those three admirable concepts. In spite of odds that would cause most men to muck their cards, you have displayed a surprising hope that the card needed to fill an inside straight or change two pairs into a full house would be dealt to you. Still, in spite of many disappointments, your faith in the delivery of the card has not wavered.

      “I am particularly thankful for your faith and hope. Of course, it would be unkind of me not to mention my appreciation for the charity you have shown in following and, on occasion, raising my bets. I acknowledge my appreciation for the funding your faith, your hope and your charity have brought me. You have all been very kind.”

      Peabody paused while his audience snorted and groaned and someone asked: “Can’t anybody shut him up?”

      The Major allowed a faint smile to cross his face and continued. “I won’t criticize your acceptance of faith, hope and charity because I must admit they, too, has been the rule and guide of my life. Only through the exercise of unbelievable self control have I been able to disregard them while seated at the poker table this evening. Most men could not disregard the driving urges I have felt to contribute to your welfare. However, my strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure”

      Peabody’s admission was duly acknowledged by his companions. Their comments were: “I think I’m going to throw up” and “Please stop. I’m allergic to bull by-product” and “Sanctimonious son of a female dog”.

      Peabody paid no attention to them. “This evening, my charitable urges have been overwhelming and I have nearly found myself deciding to give each of you twenty dollars. I’ve tried to convince myself such a gift would be an appropriate rebate for your kindness and generosity at the table. After the most careful of consideration, I have rejected the thought. I know you are all too proud to accept charity.”

      Murmurs of protest began and one of the three hunters stood and said: “I’m not” while another yelled out: “Just try me.”

      Peabody quickly held up his hand to quiet them. “No. No,” he said. “I’m sure not one of you would stoop to accept an outright gift of a part of the money you had honorably lost at the gaming table. At the same time, the charitable urge within me is so strong I cannot deny it. You see my problem, don’t you? I want to give and you are too proud to accept. Whatever shall I do?”

      The Major thought for a moment and then cried out: “Eureka. I believe I have found a path around my dilemma. Suppose you were to make a bet with me. If you won, you would not be humiliated by receiving charity and my urge to soften your poker losses would be honorably satisfied. I would not have offered charity. You would not have accepted charity.”

      Peabody’s statement was greeted with skepticism and distrust.

      “Look out. He’s got something up his sleeve.”

      “I wouldn’t bet with Peabody if he was the last man on earth.”

      “I would bet with Peabody - but only if he was the last man on earth.”

      Major Peabody went to the ice chest, opened it and removed an orange. He placed it in the center of the poker table and slowly shook his head in disappointment. “So much for good deeds,” he said. “Out of the generosity which is so characteristic of my being, I was going to bet each of you twenty dollars that I could tell the exact number of pips inside this orange.”

      Abrupt silence followed as the three hunters showed unmistakable signs of interest in the proposition. They huddled and softly analyzed the bet.

      “Is it one of those seedless oranges?”

      “No. The one I ate had lots of seeds.”

      “Do you think he opened that one and counted them?”

      “You don’t think he’s telling the truth, do you?”

      They looked at each other and found agreement.

      “You’ve got a bet,” one of them said, “but we get to select the orange. OK?”

      Major Peabody nodded his agreement. With a smile of Christian charity, he began to peel the substituted orange. “I’ll tell you the number of pips,” he said, “just as soon as I open this thing and count them.”

      His fellow hunters screamed imprecations and called him a cheat, a swindler, and an unmitigated scoundrel. Peabody calmly denied their accusations. “I am, in fact, a true devotee of sweet charity,” he protested and then added, “As you all know, charity begins at home.”