Checkers: A Hard-luck Story. Henry Blossom
upon all. My heart was beating a wild tattoo. I felt as though I were burning up.
Murray was wholly occupied in helping Domino along, by calling his name in a low, quick voice, and energetically snapping his fingers (a process commonly known as "pulling," and thought by the cult to be efficacious).
I glanced at Checkers. Disappointment was clearly written across his face.
"We 're up against it," he said despondently. "Garrison 's give us the double-cross. He had no business settin' the pace. There 's some one going after him now. Go on, you Grady! Wiggle yourself! They 've collared him! They 're passing him!" And sure enough some fleet-limbed bay was drawing ahead of our beautiful brown in a way that left us little hope of ever getting in front again.
Around the turn and into the stretch, nearer they raced in a cloud of dust. The leader was gaining at every jump, but Grady hung to second place. Taral now called upon Domino, and at once the colt responded gamely. But his time had gone, and the gallant horse that never before had lost a race fell back with the others, hopelessly beaten, and Taral, seeing that all was lost, pulled up and galloped slowly in. Martin on Despot came out of the bunch, and, passing Prince Carl, set sail for Grady, while Garrison, riding as though for his life, made every effort to hold his own.
Within one hundred yards of the wire the leader had six lengths to spare. His jockey was riding in leisurely fashion, glancing around from time to time, to watch the struggle that Despot was making to wrest the place from Senator Grady.
Whipping and spurring they thundered past us, fighting it out to the finishing post. By it they flashed, the bay horse first, Grady second and Despot third. Garrison's riding had saved him the place, but the race had been won by "a rank outsider."
For a moment or two the crowd was silent – dumb with surprise and disappointment. Few, if any, cheered the winner; thousands inwardly cursed the favorites.
Quickly the word was passed along, "Rey El Santa Anita wins."
"Lucky Baldwin's horse," said Checkers. "The odds were an easy fifty to one. Grady second! D 'ye see, if you 'd have played him for place as I wanted you to, we 'd have saved our stake. But you would n't 'thaw out,' and now your ticket's a souvenir. We 'd have win as it was with a good boy up. That settles Garrison for me. There 's a jockey that ought to be driving cows instead of riding a sprinter like Grady, and pumping him out in the first three-quarters. Domino last! That 'good thing.' Well; I knew from the start that he was a 'lobster.'"
Murray flushed up. "Well, any way, I won on Despot for third," he said, "enough to put me ahead on the race, and cover your losing on Grady, Jack. But, Jove, what a harvest the bookies have reaped. There were thousands of dollars bet on Domino and the other favorites, and there probably were n't a dozen bets in all on Rey El Santa Anita. It's a terrible thing this gambling, Jack, when you come to look it square in the face. Just think of the money gone to swell the pile of a lot of miserable gamblers, and think of the poor deluded mortals who play this game day after day, constant in the fatuous hope of some day making a brilliant coup, and squaring themselves on their years of losing. Fortune 'jollies' them along with temporary small successes, and having gained their confidence proceeds to throw them down the harder. Disappointment, misery, embezzlement, suicide, follow it all as effect follows cause – and still the game goes on."
"Well, anyway, I 'm glad we touched them, and we 'll take good care that they do n't get it back. By Jove, it's nearly 4 o'clock. I 'm afraid we ought to be going, Jack. It's a long drive in, and recollect we have a date for dinner to-night. Come on, I 'll cash this Despot ticket, and then we 'll make a start for home."
"Home!" exclaimed Checkers. "You're not going home? Why this is the race I 've been waiting for. You do n't want to miss a lunch like this. It's a puddin'; it's a tapioca. Honest, it's a regular gift; the chance of your life to make a 'killin'."
But to all his entreaties we lent a deaf ear though he talked with a masterful eloquence. I confess, however, to one more weakness. I gave him a ten which he swore to return. (Murray was standing in line with his ticket.) He said he would "play it carefully, and gradually win himself out of the hole." I felt at the time that I was a "sucker," but somehow he had a persuasive way.
III
A number of weeks had come and gone ere I again laid eyes upon Checkers, and then it chanced most unexpectedly.
I had stayed at my office late one evening, finishing up some odd jobs which I had allowed to accumulate. The additional work and the lateness of the hour lent a keen edge to my appetite, and I decided to dine down town and perhaps drop into one of the theaters.
As I hastened along on my way to Kinsley's (I am not a member of the down-town clubs) a figure stepped out of a neighboring doorway, and brushed against me in passing. It was Checkers. I knew him at once. But I gave no sign of recognition and hoped to escape him unobserved. A futile hope, for he knew me as quickly, and in an instant was by my side.
"Why, Mr. Preston," he exclaimed grabbing and shaking my passive hand. "Say, on the dead, I 'm glad to see you; why is it you have n't been out to the track? I 've had 'something good' nearly every day. I wish I had seen you an hour ago. I 've been playing 'the bank,' and they 've cleaned me flat. They say that's the squarest game on earth, but the cards do run dead wrong for me. Where you going – to eat? Well, say, as the tramp says, 'Me stomach tinks me troat's cut.' Back me against a supper, will you? It's a hundred to one I get the best of it." And so he rattled on and on, never waiting for his questions to be answered, careless and slangy as ever.
As I turned into Kinsley's I hesitated, as to whether simply to dismiss him straight, or to give him a dollar and tell him to go and satisfy his evident hunger. He saw me pause and read my thoughts, but he did not propose thus to be disposed of.
"Come on," he said, starting quickly ahead and entering the elevator. "We 're going up to the café, ain't we?"
I was greatly minded to turn on my heel and tell him to go to the deuce, if he chose. But his manner was wholly ingenuous, and "after all," I said to myself, "I'm tired and he 's amusing. It's something after 8 o'clock and no one will be here at such an hour." At all events I disliked a scene, and so I simply acquiesced, and took him to a quiet corner of the large dining-room, where I seated myself in such a way as to have my back to whomsoever might come in.
Without consulting the taste of my guest, I ordered a steak with mushrooms, potatoes, a salad, dessert and a bottle of claret, and began to read the evening paper.
For perhaps ten minutes we both were silent. I glanced at Checkers several times as I folded my paper in or out. He seemed to be lost in a reverie. But at last his thoughts came back to earth, and glancing up he said very softly, "The last time I took supper here was with my wife a year ago."
"Your wife," I exclaimed, starting with surprise. "You do n't mean to tell me you have a wife?"
"I had a wife," he answered sorrowfully, "but – "
"I beg you pardon, Checkers," I said, "I hope I have n't hurt your feelings."
"No, you have n't hurt them," he replied. "I 've got my feelings educated. I 've had so many ups and downs I 've learned to take my medicine. But I 'll bet I 've had the toughest luck of any guy that ever lived. A' year ago I had money, a wife and friends, and was doing the Vanderbilt act. In two short weeks I lost them all. I 've been 'on my rollers' ever since.
"But say, you wouldn't have known me if you 'd seen me here with my wife that time – my glad rags on, a stove-pipe lid, patent leather kicks and a stone on my front. We came to Chicago to take in the Fair, and dropped in here to eat, one night.
"We sat at that table over there; I remember it as though it was yesterday. I ordered all kinds of supper, and at last the waiter brings in some cheese and crackers. It was a kind of a greenish, mouldy cheese – Rocquefort! Yes, I believe that's it. I goes against a little piece of it, and 'on the grave,' I like to fainted. Good! Well, maybe you think it's good, but scratch your Uncle Dudley out of any race where they enter Rocquefort.
"Yes; those were happy days for me. I hate to think about them now. I had a good time while it lasted, though, and when they got me 'on the tram,' I had to go to hustlin'. Well, here comes supper. Excuse me now, while I get