The Greatest Adventures Boxed Set: Jack London Edition. Jack London
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were merely running against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimity was equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snapped and growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Gee counted out, while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. He glowered speechlessly at his opponent.
“Looks like a lurch,” said Grief.
“Which is double,” said Peter Gee.
“There’s no need your telling me,” Deacon snarled. “I’ve studied arithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!”
The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table was an insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals of resentment.
“You’ve got fool’s luck, but you can’t play cards, I can tell you that much,” Deacon went on. “I could teach you cards.”
The half-caste smiled and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money.
“There’s a little game called casino—I wonder if you ever heard of it?—a child’s game.”
“I’ve seen it played,” the half-caste murmured gently.
“What’s that?” snapped Deacon. “Maybe you think you can play it?”
“Oh, no, not for a moment. I’m afraid I haven’t head enough for it.”
“It’s a bully game, casino,” Grief broke in pleasantly. “I like it very much.”
Deacon ignored him.
“I’ll play you ten quid a game—thirty-one points out,” was the challenge to Peter Gee. “And I’ll show you how little you know about cards. Come on! Where’s a full deck?”
“No, thanks,” the half-caste answered. “They are waiting for me in order to make up a bridge set.”
“Yes, come on,” Eddy Little begged eagerly. “Come on, Peter, let’s get started.”
“Afraid of a little game like casino,” Deacon girded. “Maybe the stakes are too high. I’ll play you for pennies—or farthings, if you say so.”
The man’s conduct was a hurt and an affront to all of them. McMurtrey could stand it no longer.
“Now hold on, Deacon. He says he doesn’t want to play. Let him alone.”
Deacon turned raging upon his host; but before he could blurt out his abuse, Grief had stepped into the breach.
“I’d like to play casino with you,” he said.
“What do you know about it?”
“Not much, but I’m willing to learn.”
“Well, I’m not teaching for pennies to-night.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Grief answered. “I’ll play for almost any sum—within reason, of course.”
Deacon proceeded to dispose of this intruder with one stroke.
“I’ll play you a hundred pounds a game, if that will do you any good.”
Grief beamed his delight. “That will be all right, very right. Let us begin. Do you count sweeps?”
Deacon was taken aback. He had not expected a Goboton trader to be anything but crushed by such a proposition.
“Do you count sweeps?” Grief repeated.
Andrews had brought him a new deck, and he was throwing out the joker.
“Certainly not,” Deacon answered. “That’s a sissy game.”
“I’m glad,” Grief coincided. “I don’t like sissy games either.”
“You don’t, eh? Well, then, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll play for five hundred pounds a game.”
Again Deacon was taken aback.
“I’m agreeable,” Grief said, beginning to shuffle. “Cards and spades go out first, of course, and then big and little casino, and the aces in the bridge order of value. Is that right?”
“You’re a lot of jokers down here,” Deacon laughed, but his laughter was strained. “How do I know you’ve got the money?”
“By the same token I know you’ve got it. Mac, how’s my credit with the company?”
“For all you want,” the manager answered.
“You personally guarantee that?” Deacon demanded.
“I certainly do,” McMurtrey said. “Depend upon it, the company will honour his paper up and past your letter of credit.”
“Low deals,” Grief said, placing the deck before Deacon on the table.
The latter hesitated in the midst of the cut and looked around with querulous misgiving at the faces of the others. The clerks and captains nodded.
“You’re all strangers to me,” Deacon complained. “How am I to know? Money on paper isn’t always the real thing.”
Then it was that Peter Gee, drawing a wallet from his pocket and borrowing a fountain pen from McMurtrey, went into action.
“I haven’t gone to buying yet,” the half-caste explained, “so the account is intact. I’ll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It’s for fifteen thousand. There, look at it.”
Deacon intercepted the letter of credit as it was being passed across the table. He read it slowly, then glanced up at McMurtrey.
“Is that right?”
“Yes. It’s just the same as your own, and just as good. The company’s paper is always good.”
Deacon cut the cards, won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle. But his luck was still against him, and he lost the game.
“Another game,” he said. “We didn’t say how many, and you can’t quit with me a loser. I want action.”
Grief shuffled and passed the cards for the cut.
“Let’s play for a thousand,” Deacon said, when he had lost the second game. And when the thousand had gone the way of the two five hundred bets he proposed to play for two thousand.
“That’s progression,” McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glare from Deacon. But the manager was insistent. “You don’t have to play progression, Grief, unless you’re foolish.”
“Who’s playing this game?” Deacon flamed at his host; and then, to Grief: “I’ve lost two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?”
Grief nodded, the fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifest unfairness of such betting was known to all of them. Though he had lost three games out of four, Deacon had lost no money. By the child’s device of doubling his wager with each loss, he was bound, with the first game he won, no matter how long delayed, to be even again.
He now evinced an unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck to be cut.
“What?” Deacon cried. “You want more?”
“Haven’t got anything yet,” Grief murmured whimsically, as he began the deal. “For the usual five hundred, I suppose?”
The shame of what he had done must have tingled in Deacon, for he answered, “No, we’ll play for a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points is too long. Why not twenty-one points out—if it isn’t too rapid for you?”
“That will make it a nice, quick, little game,” Grief agreed.
The former method of play was repeated. Deacon lost two games, doubled the stake, and was again even. But Grief was patient, though the thing occurred several times in the next hour’s play. Then happened what he was waiting for—a lengthening in the series of losing games