“While we’re still on the river? Lord, that’s a chance!” He shakes his head. “No, sir, Marse Tom – Jim’s gonna wait till he’s back on land. Back on land and five mile inland, I reckon!”
Tom turns to me: “What d’you think, Hucky?”
It’s like having more cold water thrown over me.
“Why, I reckon I’d better catch up with Pap and hook that counterfeit back off of him, ’fore he gambles it away!”
Pap don’t never lose no time losing money – so now I’m running agin.
Chapter 11: Sometimes folks get hurt
Pap warn’t in sight by the time I thought to look for him, he’d already gone below – to one of the saloons, no doubt. The hurricane deck was pretty crowded; the one underneath it – the boiler deck – likewise. There was close on a thousand on that boat, I reckon, crew and passengers. It was like trying to pick out a particular tree in a forest, or stalk of corn in a cornfield, so I just kept working my way through the bodies, listening out for cussing and sniffing for brandy, till I found a doorway leading inside, with steps down to a corridor that ’peared headed in the right direction.
“This the way to the saloon?” says I to a boy couple year older’n me, walking past, looks like he works for the steamboat.
“Down there on the left,” says he. “Busy night.” He says it with a kind of swagger, like he’s trying to impress; he opens his hand and shows me a silver dollar, flips it in the air. “Mighty good for tips, I should say, night like this!” He catches the coin in his fist, gives me a smirk, and off he struts.
“Tips,” I think. “Oh, Lord!”
See, Pap never was good with money, which was sad given how much he loved it and was always thinking on ways to get his hands on some. But he warn’t mean with it any more’n he was smart; soon as he got a-holt of some it’d run ’twixt his fingers just as if it’d been water. That little windfall he’d got from Cooper wouldn’t last long once he got a chance to buy whisky and stake hisself in a card game and show off to people – complete strangers though they was – by buying them drinks and tipping folks and any other foolishness that might occur. That counterfeit of mine was in mortal danger – my soul along with it.
There was a mighty loud rumpus coming out of that saloon: whole crowd of folks talking loud and laughing and a piano playing and little bursts of song now and then, though none of ’em hold together for long. There’s a malty smell of beer in the air, sweat and whisky too, and clouds of tobacco – fierce ’nuff to scrape the back of my throat – and ladies, too, all perfumed, some like turpentine. That’s the smell of a good time, Mississippi steamboat-style. The furnishings look near as good as I’d heard, what I can see of ’em with my eyes blinking from the smoke. There was the bar, there a table with folks dining… more folks dining – if the talk of a slave rising and the strangeness with the river had upset anyone, it didn’t seem to’ve put ’em off their fun or vittels, far as I could see – folks drinking at a table… folks drinking and playing cards! I push through the crowd and look round the fellers – none of ’em was Pap (though they had the look). Then I turn and see Pap at the next table.
I work my way round, weaving through all the gawkers watching the game. ’Fore I can reach his side, I hear Pap cuss and one of the other fellers, laying down his cards, give a laugh. He reaches out and pulls several little piles of coins toward him – dern it if Pap hain’t gone and lost a hand already (he ain’t above betting on just the turn of a card when he’s in a hurry). I squeeze forward and stand behind the feller that’s won, my eyes darting all over the table, trying to spot that counterfeit among the coins; but Pap was right – though the saloon is pretty well lit up with lanterns, you can’t see the coins too well when they ain’t directly in the light, and it could be hid easy in a stack – maybe he could pass it off. Maybe he already has!
I push right up to the table and jog the feller’s shoulder so his hands knock down some of them coin stacks and spread them out a little.
“How much you won, mister?” says I, just wanting to delay him, give myself time to scan them coins, heads and tails and all.
“’Bout twenty dollar!” He glances round and looks me up and down quick. “More’n you’ve ever seen, I reckon.” Some of the other gamblers laugh at that. “Now, don’t crowd me, son.”
Lordy – there it is! Right in front of him, ’mongst his winnings: the counterfeit quarter, home to my soul. He don’t notice it’s bad – least he don’t remark on it – just takes up his cards as another hand is dealt. When he looks at ’em I see I can read ’em plain, I’m standing so close behind him… and Pap’s sitting straight across the table. Now, I reckon I’ve a better chance of hooking that counterfeit back off of Pap than a stranger looks like he’s got his wits ’bout him – but Pap might need a little help to win it back, his card-playing being what it is. There’s five in this game, including Pap, but this feller looks like the one to beat, judging by the stacks of coins he’s piled up. And nobody at that table knows I’m with Pap. I stare over at Pap till he looks up and I catch his eye; then I glance down at the feller’s cards a couple of times – not moving my head, just my eyes – then I look at Pap slow and kind of curl my eyebrows. He flicks his eyes from the feller’s cards to my face and gets the message. He’s just good ’nuff a gambler not to grin; ’stead he sits back, takes a swig of his brandy and checks his own cards agin. Then he looks round the table.
“All right, now,” says he. “Let’s play cards.”
As the small bids get made and the first few players switch some of their cards, Pap starts up a little small talk. Only him and me know what he’s really after.
“…yes, you done pretty well with them dimonds, last hand, didn’t you, mister? Yes, sir, them dimonds was shining for you.”
Diamonds! I glance down. He’s got two diamonds: ace and a three. I give the right side of my jaw a scratch with two fingers of my right hand. When I’m sure Pap’s noticed, I pick at my left eye with the tip of my left forefinger, like I’m getting out some grit. When I’ve done it three times I study the tip of my finger and give it a little rub ’gainst my thumb, like I’ve got something out. Then I draw that finger straight down my left cheek, just the once, kind of idle. Then fold my arms so Pap knows I’m done with diamonds. He’s on better form than usual and don’t make it obvious he’s watching me, just lets his gaze stray round the table, lighting on me now and then, keeping up his chat with the other players all the while.
“…dug me a little hole, last hand, didn’t I. Well, I’m feeling lucky, boys – maybe I can dig myself out this time…”
Dug. Dig. Spades – that’s what Pap means!
I look down agin to check on the cards – I can’t remember slathers of things in one go like some folks. The feller’s holding ’em close, but I see a seven of spades. Seven of hearts and a seven of clubs too – pretty good hand, I reckon. So I scratch my chin on the right agin, only this time with just one finger. Now, how do I show Pap seven? Can only think of one way: give left side of my head a scratch with all five fingers – thumb and all – then, as I’m lowering my hand, give my left cheek another scratch with just two. Then I fold my arms agin.
Pap finishes his brandy and smacks his lips.
“Why, that does a body a power of good, don’t it, a drop like that? Am I right, fellers? Put’s heart into a body, that it does; can feel my own heart beating sound and regular – and that’s what you want, let me tell you…”
Hearts! That was plain ’nuff. Well, I ’ready know this feller’s got one of those, but it’s another seven. The play’s moving toward Pap fast – always does move fast early on – so I don’t have no time to think of a new signal, I just scratch my jaw agin with one right finger, hair on the left side with five left, left cheek with two left. I see a smile flicker ’cross Pap’s face, but that ain’t good – ’cause it means he’s most probly thinking he only has a seven pair to beat (and I’ll Pap don’t have more’n a high pair in his hand, which h
e’ll steam ahead and play and get beat by three sevens). He’s ’ready reaching for his money. Then he pauses.
“Yes, sir,” says he. “That was good brandy, all right. Ain’t drunk any so good since I was in a gentlemen’s club in – where was it, now? – Vicksburg, I think. Any of you know that club? The Riverfront Club?”
Clubs! Pap does have the sense to get a full picture ’fore he risks his money. But time’s ’most up!
“So, mister,” says the feller sitting in front of me. “You going to call?”
If anyone suspects I’m signalling Pap we’ll both be over the side pretty soon after, I’ll lay – but there ain’t nothing for it. I go through it all agin: one right, five left, two left, scratch, scratch, scratch. Pap lays down his cards at once.
“No,” says he. “Think I’ll fold.”
Then a big hand grabs my shoulder and there’s a big, black-whiskered feller frowning down in my face. “Oh, Lord, Hucky,” I think. “Game’s up!”
“Land sakes, boy!” says he. “Stop scratching, can’t you? You’re making me itch all over! If you’ve got fleas, get outside.”
“Sorry, sir,” says I. I can feel several hard stares on me now from the folks round the table, and the fellers standing nearest step back a pace. It’ll be a sight harder to make any signals unseen now, I reckon. I’m trying to figure out a way and watching the game, hardling daring to twitch a muscle – when, sure ’nuff, that feller wins the hand with three sevens. Up comes the boy I saw in the passage.
“More drinks, gentlemen?” says he, tray under one arm and a cloth over the other, kind of hopeful.
“Well, I should say so,” says Pap, the words launching straight out of him like they was on elastic. T’other fellers was of much the same mind as Pap regarding liquor – though a shade better on cleanliness and cussing – so in less’n half a minute that boy’s turning to go with an order for five whisky sours or such in his head and a tray loaded with empty glasses balanced on one hand.
“This should cover ’em,” says the feller as won, kind of flash, tossing a silver dollar onto the tray – more’n ’nuff to pay for all. T’other fellers all say “Much obliged!” or “Very gen’rous!” or such, but they say it kind of resentful, like they’re being shown up a little (’cept Pap – he’s truly happy; he ain’t got no pride when it comes to accepting drinks off of folks). “And keep this for yourself, son!” And he flips another coin to him – and, Lord, if it ain’t my counterfeit quarter, certain.
“Thank you, sir,” says the boy, catching the coin pretty neat with his free hand and lodging it in his britches.
Well, that settles one problem for me and starts up another. I won’t be signalling Pap no more – he’s on his own; I’ve got to get after that boy. Pap throws me a couple of frowns as I dive back into the crowd and start following that tray, bobbing up and down ’bove everybody’s heads, but I ain’t worried – ain’t nothing Pap can say ’bout it won’t get him into worse trouble than keeping still. He’ll lam me later, I guess, for running out on him – but that’s a small price for a soul.
Well, I keep sight of that boy and catch up with him at the bar, where he’s giving the order and the dirty glasses to one of the barkeeps.
“Hello, agin,” says I, with a smile. “Found the saloon all right.”
“Good for you,” says he. “You could be a pilot.”
It won’t be but a moment ’fore he’s heading off with more drinks, so I’ve got to act fast.
“Want me to show you a way to win money?” says I – that’s something close to his heart, I’ll lay, same as most folks. He cocks his head and gives me a look from all the way down his nose.
“Yes,” says he. “You look like you’ve won plenty. You look like a regular millionaire, you do.” And he has a little laugh. He’s a couple of year older’n me, this boy, and thinks he’s mighty smart – ’cause he works on a steamboat, I guess. But I know how to handle that type, I’ll allow.
“Well, all right, then,” says I, turning my back on him. “It’d only’ve took a minute, but if you ain’t interested, you ain’t…”
“Hey, wait up!” I don’t have to take more’n two steps ’fore he calls me back.
“I was just funning,” says he. “Way to win money, eh? All right – what’s in it for you?”
“The coin that feller give you,” says I. He’s opening his mouth to say no when I cut him short. “Not the silver dollar. Just the quarter – the one you got in your pocket.”
“Hm, all right,” says he. “But what do I stand to win?”
“Knowhow,” says I. “And if you beat me first time I’ll give you two quarters!”
I had no money and warn’t fixing on paying anything anyhow, so I figured I could promise pretty free.
“All right,” says he. “But you try and cheat me…” He balls his fist and holds it close to my face.
“That’s the beauty of it,” says I. “It ain’t no trick – it just works. Fetch me down three pewter tankards, or pottery mugs – I’m going to put that coin of yourn under one of ’em and you mustn’t be able to see it.”
“Why, you do mean to gull me,” says he. “I’ve seen this done – you’ll palm the coin, ’stead of putting it in place.”
I roll my eyes – some folks is so distrusting it makes a body sad.
“I won’t even touch it,” says I. “He can!” Pointing at the barkeep who’s just took station nearby, placing the card players’ drinks on the tray the boy brung with him.
“Well, all right, then…,” says the boy. “Bill! Hand me down three tankards and take a hand here.”
The barkeep does as the boy asks – don’t reckon he’s shy ’bout learning how to make money neither.
“What now?” says the boy, once the barkeep’s set down three tankards in a row.
“Simple,” says I. “You give the quarter to this gentleman here…” (I mean the barkeep; didn’t think it’d hurt to flatter.) “…then turn your back on him so’s you can’t see what he’s doing – that’s to stop you cheating. But don’t feel bad ’bout it – I’ll turn away too, keep you company. Then, mister, while we ain’t looking, you turn those tankards upside down and put the quarter under one – any one you please, don’t matter which. All right?”
“Easy ’nuff,” says the barkeep (which it is – like I said, there ain’t no trick to it).
So the boy hands over the coin, we turn away, barkeep sets up the tankards, slides the coin under one, then slides them round a little (I hear him moving ’em ’cross the bar; didn’t need to – it was a touch of his own).
“Done!” says the barkeep.
“We can look now,” says I to the boy. As we turn round I make a show of folding my arms and tucking my hands underneath ’em, so he can’t say I’m fooling with anything. “Now,” says I. “Pick a tankard.”
“This one!” He puts his finger on the left-most.
“All right, barkeep,” says I. “Out of the other two tankards, lift up one that don’t have the coin under it.”
He picks up the right-most and lifts it away.
“No coin there,” says I. “So either the coin’s under the tankard you picked or this one, ain’t it?”
“That’s so,” says the boy.
“Well, you’re in luck,” says I. “’Cause I’m giving you a chance to switch to this here one.”
“Oh, no,” says he. “I’ll stick with this’un, thank you.”
“That’s a pity,” says I. “’cause that coin’s under this one, ain’t it, barkeep?”
Well, the barkeep gives a little laugh and lifts up the tankard. Coin’s where I said it was. I reach for it, but just before my hand gets there the boy slaps his palm down on it.
“That don’t prove nothing,” says the boy. “That ain’t worth a quarter.”
“I’ll show you agin, then,” says I. “Barkeep?”
So we turn round agin, hear the barkeep moving the tankards about, then turn back.
“Which
one d’you fancy this time?” says I.
“This’un,” says he, planting his finger on the middle one.
“Now, barkeep,” says I. “Please remove one of the tankards that don’t have the coin under it.”
Off goes the left-most one.
“Now,” says I. “I’ll give you the same chance I give you last time. You can switch to this tankard over here if you want – I won’t hold it against you.”
“I like this one fine,” says he.
“That’s a shame,” says I. “’Cause the coin’s under t’other one.”
“Dern! He’s got you agin, Frank,” says the barkeep.
“It ain’t nothing but guessing,” says the boy. “Let’s try it agin.”
So we did – and I was right agin.
“See,” says I, “most folks won’t change their first choice, however you ask ’em – they’re ’fraid of getting cheated, like you was. But the secret is to always change – change ev’ry time. It makes you twice as likely to win.”
“But that don’t make sense,” says the barkeep, knotting his brows. “After you get rid of that first tankard it’s either one or t’other – an even chance.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” says I. “But, no – t’ain’t so. Change every time and you’ll win twice as often. Now that’s worth a quarter of anybody’s money to know, I reckon.”
Thing like that, bet you think I picked it from Pap or watching some no-good in a low tavern or at a fair or when the circus come to town, or such. No. Point of fact I was shown it by Tom – and Tom said he got it from a book of mathematics (which is a fancy kind of counting). He had to show me ’bout a dozen times ’fore I was sold and sure he warn’t fooling me. He explained why it worked and I understood it at the time. I can’t remember why now – things like that don’t stick; just know it does. Trouble is, it don’t seem right – and some folks just worry at it till it do.
That’s what the barkeep and the boy are doing now – setting up the tankards time and again and trying each other. First one turns his back while the other sets ’em up, then t’other way round. Couple of fellers standing nearby is edging closer and trying to figure it out. They do it ’most a dozen times ’fore they notice the shouting coming from the back of the room – them gamblers want their drinks.
Huck Page 21