by Jack London
"If he does, he's a bluffer," Deacon cut back. "I'm getting tired of allthis poppycock. Mr. Gee, you will favour me and put yourself in abetter light if you tell how you know who that man was that just droppedanchor. After that I'll play you piquet."
"I'd prefer bridge," Peter answered. "As for the other thing,it's something like this: By the sound it was a small craft--nosquare-rigger. No whistle, no siren, was blown--again a small craft. Itanchored close in--still again a small craft, for steamers and big shipsmust drop hook outside the middle shoal. Now the entrance is tortuous.There is no recruiting nor trading captain in the group who dares to runthe passage after dark. Certainly no stranger would. There _were_ twoexceptions. The first was Margonville. But he was executed by the HighCourt at Fiji. Remains the other exception, David Grief. Night orday, in any weather, he runs the passage. This is well known to all. Apossible factor, in case Grief were somewhere else, would be some youngdare-devil of a skipper. In this connection, in the first place, I don'tknow of any, nor does anybody else. In the second place, David Grief isin these waters, cruising on the _Gunga_, which is shortly scheduled toleave here for Karo-Karo. I spoke to Grief, on the _Gunga_, in SandflyPassage, day before yesterday. He was putting a trader ashore on a newstation. He said he was going to call in at Babo, and then come on toGoboto. He has had ample time to get here. I have heard an anchor drop.Who else than David Grief can it be? Captain Donovan is skipper of the_Gunga_, and him I know too well to believe that he'd run in to Gobotoafter dark unless his owner were in charge. In a few minutes DavidGrief will enter through that door and say, 'In Guvutu they merely drinkbetween drinks.' I'll wager fifty pounds he's the man that enters andthat his words will be, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks. '"Deacon was for the moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in hisface.
"Well, he's answered you," McMurtrey laughed genially. "And I'll backhis bet myself for a couple of sovereigns."
"Bridge! Who's going to take a hand?" Eddy Little cried impatiently."Come on, Peter!"
"The rest of you play," Deacon said. "He and I are going to playpiquet."
"I'd prefer bridge," Peter Gee said mildly.
"Don't you play piquet?"
The pearl-buyer nodded.
"Then come on. Maybe I can show I know more about that than I do aboutanchors."
"Oh, I say----" McMurtrey began.
"You can play bridge," Deacon shut him off. "We prefer piquet."
Reluctantly, Peter Gee was bullied into a game that he knew would beunhappy.
"Only a rubber," he said, as he cut for deal.
"For how much?" Deacon asked.
Peter Gee shrugged his shoulders. "As you please."
"Hundred up--five pounds a game?"
Peter Gee agreed.
"With the lurch double, of course, ten pounds?"
"All right," said Peter Gee.
At another table four of the others sat in at bridge. Captain Stapler,who was no card-player, looked on and replenished the long glassesof Scotch that stood at each man's right hand. McMurtrey, with poorlyconcealed apprehension, followed as well as he could what went on atthe piquet table. His fellow Englishmen as well were shocked by thebehaviour of the Australian, and all were troubled by fear of someuntoward act on his part. That he was working up his animosity againstthe half-caste, and that the explosion might come any time, was apparentto all.
"I hope Peter loses," McMurtrey said in an undertone.
"Not if he has any luck," Andrews answered. "He's a wizard at piquet. Iknow by experience."
That Peter Gee was lucky was patent from the continual badgering ofDeacon, who filled his glass frequently. He had lost the first game,and, from his remarks, was losing the second, when the door opened andDavid Grief entered.
"In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks," he remarked casually tothe assembled company, ere he gripped the manager's hand. "Hello, Mac!Say, my skipper's down in the whaleboat. He's got a silk shirt, a tie,and tennis shoes, all complete, but he wants you to send a pair of pantsdown. Mine are too small, but yours will fit him. Hello, Eddy! How'sthat _ngari-ngari?_ You up, Jock? The miracle has happened. No one downwith fever, and no one remarkably drunk." He sighed, "I suppose thenight is young yet. Hello, Peter! Did you catch that big squall an hourafter you left us? We had to let go the second anchor."
While he was being introduced to Deacon, McMurtrey dispatched ahouse-boy with the pants, and when Captain Donovan came in it was as awhite man should--at least in Goboto.
Deacon lost the second game, and an outburst heralded the fact. PeterGee devoted himself to lighting a cigarette and keeping quiet.
"What?--are you quitting because you're ahead?" Deacon demanded.
Grief raised his eyebrows questioningly to McMurtrey, who frowned backhis own disgust.
"It's the rubber," Peter Gee answered.
"It takes three games to make a rubber. It's my deal. Come on!"
Peter Gee acquiesced, and the third game was on.
"Young whelp--he needs a lacing," McMurtrey muttered to Grief. "Come on,let us quit, you chaps. I want to keep an eye on him. If he goes too farI'll throw him out on the beach, company instructions or no."
"Who is he?" Grief queried.
"A left-over from last steamer. Company's orders to treat him nice. He'slooking to invest in a plantation. Has a ten-thousand-pound letter ofcredit with the company. He's got 'all-white Australia' on the brain.Thinks because his skin is white and because his father was onceAttorney-General of the Commonwealth that he can be a cur. That's whyhe's picking on Peter, and you know Peter's the last man in the worldto make trouble or incur trouble. Damn the company. I didn't engageto wet-nurse its infants with bank accounts. Come on, fill your glass,Grief. The man's a blighter, a blithering blighter."
"Maybe he's only young," Grief suggested.
"He can't contain his drink--that's clear." The manager glared hisdisgust and wrath. "If he raises a hand to Peter, so help me, I'll givehim a licking myself, the little overgrown cad!"
The pearl-buyer pulled the pegs out of the cribbage board on which hewas scoring and sat back. He had won the third game. He glanced acrossto Eddy Little, saying:
"I'm ready for the bridge, now."
"I wouldn't be a quitter," Deacon snarled.
"Oh, really, I'm tired of the game," Peter Gee assured him with hishabitual quietness.
"Come on and be game," Deacon bullied. "One more. You can't take mymoney that way. I'm out fifteen pounds. Double or quits."
McMurtrey was about to interpose, but Grief restrained him with hiseyes.
"If it positively is the last, all right," said Peter Gee, gathering upthe cards. "It's my deal, I believe. As I understand it, this final isfor fifteen pounds. Either you owe me thirty or we quit even?"
"That's it, chappie. Either we break even or I pay you thirty."
"Getting blooded, eh?" Grief remarked, drawing up a chair.
The other men stood or sat around the table, and Deacon played againin bad luck. That he was a good player was clear. The cards were merelyrunning against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimitywas equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snappedand growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Geecounted out, while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. Heglowered 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 studiedarithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!"
The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table wasan insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals ofresentment.
"You've got fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you thatmuch," 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 ofit?--a ch
ild'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 verymuch."
Deacon ignored him.
"I'll play you ten quid a game--thirty-one points out," was thechallenge to Peter Gee. "And I'll show you how little you know aboutcards. Come on! Where's a full deck?"
"No, thanks," the half-caste answered. "They are waiting for me in orderto make up a bridge set."
"Yes, come on," Eddy Little begged eagerly. "Come on, Peter, let's getstarted."
"Afraid of a little game like casino," Deacon girded. "Maybe the stakesare 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. McMurtreycould 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 hisabuse, 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 anysum--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 usbegin. Do you count sweeps?"
Deacon was taken aback. He had not expected a Goboton trader to beanything 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 forfive hundred pounds a game."
Again Deacon was taken aback.
"I'm agreeable," Grief said, beginning to shuffle. "Cards and spades goout first, of course, and then big and little casino, and the aces inthe bridge order of value. Is that right?"
"You're a lot of jokers down here," Deacon laughed, but his laughter wasstrained. "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 thecompany?"
"For all you want," the manager answered.
"You personally guarantee that?" Deacon demanded.
"I certainly do," McMurtrey said. "Depend upon it, the company willhonour 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 withquerulous misgiving at the faces of the others. The clerks and captainsnodded.
"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 andborrowing a fountain pen from McMurtrey, went into action.
"I haven't gone to buying yet," the half-caste explained, "so theaccount is intact. I'll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It's forfifteen thousand. There, look at it."
Deacon intercepted the letter of credit as it was being passed acrossthe 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'spaper 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 quitwith 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 secondgame. And when the thousand had gone the way of the two five hundredbets he proposed to play for two thousand.
"That's progression," McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glarefrom Deacon. But the manager was insistent. "You don't have to playprogression, Grief, unless you're foolish."
"Who's playing this game?" Deacon flamed at his host; and then, toGrief: "I've lost two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?"
Grief nodded, the fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifestunfairness of such betting was known to all of them. Though he had lostthree games out of four, Deacon had lost no money. By the child's deviceof doubling his wager with each loss, he was bound, with the first gamehe won, no matter how long delayed, to be even again.
He now evinced an unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck tobe cut.
"What?" Deacon cried. "You want more?"
"Haven't got anything yet," Grief murmured whimsically, as he began thedeal. "For the usual five hundred, I suppose?"
The shame of what he had done must have tingled in Deacon, for heanswered, "No, we'll play for a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points istoo 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, doubledthe stake, and was again even. But Grief was patient, though the thingoccurred several times in the next hour's play. Then happened what hewas waiting for--a lengthening in the series of losing games for Deacon.The latter doubled to four thousand and lost, doubled to eight thousandand lost, and then proposed to double to sixteen thousand.
Grief shook his head. "You can't do that, you know. You're only tenthousand credit with the company."
"You mean you won't give me action?" Deacon asked hoarsely. "You meanthat with eight thousand of my money you're going to quit?"
Grief smiled and shook his head.
"It's robbery, plain robbery," Deacon went on. "You take my money andwon't give me action."
"No, you're wrong. I'm perfectly willing to give you what action you'vegot coming to you. You've got two thousand pounds of action yet."
"Well, we'll play it," Deacon took him up. "You cut."
The game was played in silence, save for irritable remarks and cursesfrom Deacon. Silently the onlookers filled and sipped their longScotch glasses. Grief took no notice of his opponent's outbursts, butconcentrated on the game. He was really playing cards, and there werefifty-two in the deck to be kept track of, and of which he did keeptrack. Two thirds of the way through the last deal he threw down hishand.
"Cards put me out," he said. "I have twenty-seven."
"If you've made a mistake," Deacon threatened, his face white and drawn.
"Then I shall have lost. Count them."
Grief passed over his stack of takings, and Deacon, with tremblingfingers, verified the count. He half shoved his chair back from thetable and emptied his glass. He looked about him at unsympathetic faces.
"I fancy I'll be catching the next steamer for Sydney," he said, and forthe first time his speech was quiet and without bluster.
As Grief told them afterward: "Had he whined or raised a roar I wouldn'thave given him that last chance. As it was, he took his medicine like aman, and I had to do it."
Deacon glanced at his watch, simulated a weary yawn, and started torise.
"Wait," Grief said. "Do you want further action?"
The other sank down in his chair, strove to speak, but could not, lickedhis dry lips, and nodded his head.
"Captain Donovan here sails at daylight in the _Gunga_ for Karo-Karo,"Grief began with seeming irrelevance. "Karo-Karo is a ring of sand inthe sea, with a few thousand cocoa-nut trees. Pandanus grows there, butthey can't grow sweet potatoes nor taro. There aremabout eight hundrednatives, a
king and two prime ministers, and the last three named arethe only ones who wear any clothes. It's a sort of God-forsaken littlehole, and once a year I send a schooner up from Goboto. The drinkingwater is brackish, but old Tom Butler has survived on it for a dozenyears. He's the only white man there, and he has a boat's crew of fiveSanta Cruz boys who would run away or kill him if they could. That iswhy they were sent there. They can't run away. He is always suppliedwith the hard cases from the plantations. There are no missionaries.Two native Samoan teachers were clubbed to death on the beach when theylanded several years ago.
"Naturally, you are wondering what it is all about. But have patience.As I have said, Captain Donovan sails on the annual trip to Karo-Karo atdaylight to-morrow. Tom Butler is old, and getting quite helpless. I'vetried to retire him to Australia, but he says he wants to remain anddie on Karo-Karo, and he will in the next year or so. He's a queer oldcodger. Now the time is due for me to send some white man up to take thework off his hands. I wonder how you'd like the job. You'd have to staytwo years.
"Hold on! I've not finished. You've talked frequently of action thisevening. There's no action in betting away what you've never sweatedfor. The money you've lost to me was left you by your father or someother relative who did the sweating. But two years of work as trader onKaro-Karo would mean something. I'll bet the ten thousand I've won fromyou against two years of your time. If you win, the money's yours. Ifyou lose, you take the job at Karo-Karo and sail at daylight. Now that'swhat might be called real action. Will you play?"