The Kentuckian made a careless stroke, and the game was finished.
The loser immediately pulled out a huge leather bag extremely well filled; and as he laid down the five dollars he had lost, observed in a tone of recovered cheerfulness, that he wasn’t daunted for all that was come and gone yet — that if he lost he could afford to pay, and nobody’s leave to ask neither.
Half a dozen voices simultaneously offered to play him, and more than one proposed to give him odds; but he turned from them all, saying, “No, no, you’ll be all too hard for me; I’d like to try luck with this young gentleman,” he added, civilly turning towards Whitlaw, “for he looks more like one of my own sort. Jerico bob! young gentleman, let you and I have a right-down good try together — I’ll bet fifty dollars with anyone that pleases, if ’twas only to prove that I arn’t afraid to lose.”
“I expect, sir,” replied Whitlaw with the air of a person rather affronted, “that you mightn’t find it so over-easy to beat me neither. ’Tis a fact that I never was in New Orleans before; but I calculate it man may play billiards in country as well as town — there’s more tables than one in the Union. I don’t want to play you, sir, nohow; if I beat, I like to beat for honour as well as for profit; and so I’ll play this gentleman here,” turning to the Kentuckian, “for a hundred dollars if he likes it.”
It appeared that the table was already bespoken; but after a few minutes’ conversation among the parties, it was agreed to give it up to the young stranger and the Kentuckian, if the latter consented to the match; and bets were already running high against the boastful youngster.
“I expect I mustn’t show a white feather, though the bet’s rather a high one for a poor country dealer like me,” replied the man; “but when did Kentuck turn tail? So have at ye, my young un,” he added, placing himself at the table and brandishing his cue: “faint heart never won either lady or living.”
“That’s hard enough upon me though,” observed the man who had just lost the game; “I’ve a right to my revenge anyhow.”
“Well, then, take it,” cried Whitlaw, with the gay boastful laugh of a boy; “father didn’t send me to New Orleans for the first time without lining my purse, I can tell you that; and so you may bet against me, and upon the man that gave it to you so handsome — and that’s a generous offer, I expect.”
“Well, then,” said the loser, “I’ll do it — done, for a hundred upon Kentuck — done!”
“Done!” replied Whitlaw. “Now, then, the honour of the backwoods! What will father say if I lose?”
“I’ll take you another fifty, sir, if you like it,” said a yellow-fever-tinted senior who was quietly looking on.
“My — !” exclaimed Whitlaw; “if luck runs against me, I’m done, I tell you that. But ’tis just as well to be hanged for a sheep as a lamb; so I say done to you sir, for fifty. And look now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do besides.”
He set down the cue he had taken, and drawing a heavy bag from his pocket, counted one hundred dollars from it; then with equal simplicity he produced a pocket-book from his breast-pocket, and displayed notes to the amount of five hundred more: “There now!” said he, “that’s my stock for the time present; not but what father could double and treble that, and more too, and never miss it. But that’s my capital for the time being, and I’m willing to risk every cent of it except one hundred to pay boarding and carry me up home. So if anybody has a fancy for a bet, let him speak: but I’ll tell him beforehand, that I’m not that bad at the game to be made the fool of, that we’ve some of us seen done stumped in our day.”
Whitlaw accompanied these last words by throwing a sly look over his shoulder at the loser of the last game.
At least half a dozen voices again proclaimed their readiness to pronounce the important “done!” to whatever amount the young and hardy stranger chose to name. Upon which Whitlaw very deliberately, but uttering now and then a laughing word of self-reproach against his own daring, apportioned his bets to the amount of his cash, amongst those who had challenged him; and then, examining his, cue more carefully, and changing it more than once, he declared himself at length ready to begin.
The Kentuckian was by no means a bad, though a very dashing player, and began the game by making two or three extremely fine strokes. Betting became brisk among the bystanders, very long odds being offered against Whitlaw. His style of play was totally unlike that of his antagonist: though he had talked of luck, it was very evident to the only person present (except the marker) who really understood the game, that it was not to his luck he trusted. When the balls were so placed as to afford the possibility of a stroke that told high, he made it, but repeatedly missed one or two pretty hazards that he seemed anxiously to play for.
When the game was about half through, and Whitlaw right behind his adversary, the quiet, awkward player who had just been so unmercifully beat by the Kentuckian took an opportunity of whispering to our hero, while the attention of the whole room was fixed on a stroke that his opponent was studying with more caution than seemed usual with him, “I say, young man, let me off my bet, and I’ll contrive that the rest shall all double.”
“Good!” replied Whitlaw, in the same tone, and with a look that seemed to say “now we understand each other!” The Kentuckian missed the stroke. Whitlaw pretended the most extravagant joy, and exclaimed, “Eight! what’s eight? — I wish, by Jingo, that I’d a thousand dollars more about me! I’d be d — d if I wouldn’t stake ’em every cent after that miss.”
“Well, sir,” said the clumsy player, “’tis a pity you should be thwarted, and this your first try at New Orleans. If you’ll be pleased to name your name, and give us notes of hand, I don’t question but the company would be content.”
“To be sure,”— “To be sure,” — said many voices; and Whitlaw, with the air of a man heated and reckless, immediately increased his bets to fifteen hundred dollars.
The result may be easily guessed — he won the game by two.
Notwithstanding the general disappointment and the angry feeling that accompanied it, there was not a single victim who did not believe it to be the effect of sheer ill luck.
“At any rate, sir,” said one of the greatest losers, “I hope you don’t intend to be so mean as to start away home with your winnings? If you’re a gentleman, you’ll be willing to bet again.”
“Well, sir, I am a gentleman,” replied Whitlaw, “and willing to do what’s fair and honourable; and I’d scorn to be afraid of risking again this, and more too, till you’ve fairly got your revenge, which is sure to come, I know, sooner or later; only I expect you won’t insist upon my playing now, seeing it’s dinnertime, and I’m going to dine at Mrs. Bennet’s for the first time; and they do say her dinners are dreadful good. — So, good morning, gentlemen — shall be happy to meet again — tomorrow, maybe?”
“That’s fair enough; good morning, sir, we shall be looking out for you.”
Whitlaw departed; but as he reached the head of the stairs, the clumsy player was at his elbow.
“Call in to-night, can’t you?” he said in a whisper: “if you’ve a mind for a partnership, we may make a good thing of it.”
“I’ll come if I can,” said Whitlaw; “but I’ve business of all sorts — good morning.”
CHAPTER XI.
IT will be easily believed that Mr. Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw sat down to Mrs. Bennet’s table d’hôte in a very agreeable state of mind. He had, in truth, opened his campaign well. Fifteen hundred dollars made by a single game at billiards, and that quite a casual one, may appear to sober-minded Europeans as an exaggeration of probabilities too violent to be safely inserted in a narrative professing to paint existing manners; but any sceptic may be easily cured of his doubts by making a very few inquiries either at the scene of action or of those who are well acquainted with it. As to Whitlaw, he thought the transaction so far from being anything at all uncommon — (and yet his early experience had been confined wholly to those miniature imitati
ons of New Orleans to be found at Natchez) — that he resolved, as the thing seemed likely to answer so well, to sacrifice some of the lighter pleasures he had promised himself, for the sake of pursuing it systematically.
He had fully intended to have passed this his first evening amidst the unceremonious gaiety of a Quadroon ball; but as he eat his pepper-soup, and then refreshed his pallet with free libations of Mrs. Bennet’s admirable Madeira he reasoned upon the heavy loss that might ensue from such a sacrifice of time to idle pleasure.
Nevertheless, the temptation was great. He had heard so much of the splendour of these entertainments, and the exceeding grace and beauty displayed at them, that he still wavered, till at length, his fancy being stimulated perhaps by the inspiring wine, he determined to indulge himself in gazing upon the fair assemblage for an hour, and then to pass the rest of the night, as in duty bound, in useful business.
Before retiring for the purpose of making his toilet, he indulged in smoking a couple of cigars, accompanied by a due proportion of whisky-punch; and then feeling himself a little overcome by his voyage, his billiards, and his dinner, he threw his legs comfortably upon the chimney-piece and fell fast asleep.
How long he rested thus is uncertain; but when he waked, the two very gentlemanlike men who had shared his punch were departed, and the lamps were burning dim, as the oil which fed them was nearly exhausted. He started up, and looking at his watch, saw with extreme astonishment that he had slept two hours. It was now past nine, and he was hastily approaching the bell to ring for a chamber candle, when the sight of his own pocket-book lying open upon the carpet arrested his eyes and his steps.
With a beating heart he stooped to seize it. He remembered with an instantaneous gleam of satisfaction that his person had been thrown during his nap into an attitude as nearly topsy-turvy as possible, and he felt that it was likely enough that the pocket-book might have fallen out; but the moment his hand touched, it, all soft delusive hope fled for ever — his banknotes were gone!
Rage and despair seized upon his heart, and divided it between them. He rang the bell so furiously, that two negroes and one yellow man entered the large dining-room by three different doors to know his pleasure.
“Where is your mistress?” he thundered out; “where is the woman who keeps this den of thieves? Call her to me — bring her to me this instant, or I’ll burn the last atom of wool from your beastly scalps before I sleep!” The three slaves retired by their three several doors as he spoke.
In as short a time as it was well possible for her to enter from the drawing-room, the gentle, civil Mrs. Bennet stood before him.
Whitlaw’s eyes rolled fearfully in his head, and he actually foamed at the mouth, as he attempted to make her understand the wrong that had been done him.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said in the very softest voice imaginable, “but I really cannot understand what it is you say.”
Say!” roared the bereaved young man in accents of genuine agony; “but you shall know and feel it, if you cannot hear. I have been robbed, woman! robbed of two thousand dollars since I entered this room!”
“Very extraordinary indeed,” observed Mrs. Bennet, without in the slightest degree deviating from her usual sweet tone. “Pray how did it happen, sir?”
“It is you must tell that, madam; and so you shall if there be law in the State. It is you must tell who those two fellows are with the large red whiskers — both of them, they had both of them red whiskers.”
“The two gentlemen with red whiskers, sir? Oh, dear! there will not be the least difficulty in the world in telling that, without troubling the State about it in the least. The tallest is General Holingsworth; and the youngest and shortest, Major Tomlinson.”
“Let them call themselves what they choose, madam, they have robbed me of two thousand dollars, and they must give account of it either in public or in private.”
“Oh dear! sir, the gentlemen are both of them perfectly well known in New Orleans. They are of the very highest standing, and would, I am sure, be happy to answer, to anybody of their own station, any question that could be asked either in private or public.”
“It will be long enough, I can tell you, before I shall be of their station, which is just neither more nor less than thieves and pickpockets. I went to sleep in this here room with two thousand dollars in notes; and now I am waked up, I find them all gone, and my pocket-book with all my letters left lying on the floor. Them two red-whiskered men were in the room when I dropped asleep, and now they are gone, as well as my notes, and how can I think anything else but that they have robbed me?”
“You must think, of course, sir, just whatever you happen to please,” replied Mrs. Bennet, without for an instant appearing to lose the beautiful placidity of her temper; “but when gentlemen that are not over-much known in the town accuse those who are, of robbery and felony, and I know not what besides, it is very likely, I think, that the accusation will not be greatly attended to.” And so saying, the well-dressed, graceful lady of the house made a curtsey and departed.
The unfortunate Whitlaw remained in a state of the most complete discomfiture. Mrs. Bennet’s very cool way of receiving the intelligence of his loss convinced him that there was little or no hope of recovering it. Whether her indifference proceeded from the frequency of such occurrences among the fashionable society of New Orleans, or that the two persons he had accused were really beyond and above all suspicion, he was at a loss to decide. After meditating on the subject in very moody solitude for a long hour, he determined upon inquiring for the nearest magistrate, laying a formal statement of the facts before him, and insisting upon it that the two individuals upon whom his suspicions rested should be summoned to answer to the accusation.
It was now some hours too late for such an application, and he must therefore wait with what patience he could for the morrow. Meanwhile, the unfortunate young man felt that his state of mind no longer fitted him for the enjoyment of the brilliant scene that the ball-room was likely to exhibit; neither had he at that moment energy to enter upon any sharp encounter of wit with the respectable personage who had invited him to an appointment at the billiard-table in the evening. So, after taking a few hurried turns about the room, he again rang the bell for a candle and a glass of brandy; and thus enlightened and sustained, he retired to his room and his bed, and spent a feverish and most miserable night in thinking of his loss while awake, and in dreaming of it when for a few short moments he was happy enough to fall asleep.
He rose early, and, to avoid meeting the suspected thieves or their complaisant landlady, repaired to a coffee-house for his breakfast. As soon as it was possible to present himself before a magistrate, he waited upon Squire Grampton, and having very clearly stated the case, desired that the two suspected persons should immediately be summoned before him to undergo an examination.
Squire Grampton heard him very quietly to the end, and then said, placing both his legs on the table before him, and cleaning his nails with a penknife, “Pray, young man, what may your name be?”
“Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw, sir.”
“And where do you come from?”
“From Paradise Plantation, near Natchez, sir.”
“Is Paradise Plantation your own property?”
“No, sir, it is not as yet; but it may be one day.”
“Oh! and you brought two thousand dollars with you to New Orlines?”
“I don’t expect it’s necessary for me to certify how much I brought with me to New Orlines. What I am ready to swear to, is, that I went to sleep in Mrs. Bennet’s dining-room with two thousand dollars in notes, last night, in my pocket-book — that the only people in the room with me were General Holingsworth and Major Tomlinson, — and that when I waked, my pocket-book was on the floor, and my notes gone.”
Squire Grampton was reckoned a remarkably good-natured man, and he now proved his just claim to the reputation by laughing heartily.
“And so, my fine fellow, yo
u calculate upon having General Holingsworth, who is no less a man than surveyor-general of the Alabama territory, and Major Tomlinson, one of the largest slave-holders in the State, — you really calculate upon having them called over the coals, because you went to sleep and lost your money? — ha! ha! ha! ha! — that’s fun, at any rate. Now, my raw one, shall I give you a bit of advice that may chance to be useful? Hold your money fast when you’ve got it; and when you lose it, never accuse a rich man of being the thief — at least not in New Orlines — for it won’t answer. And so, young man, I wish you a very good morning.”
The good-natured man’s look was so decided and peremptory, that the unhappy Whitlaw saw there was nothing left save to submit. But he went forth from the magistrate’s house swearing vengeance, not so much against him, or even the thieves who had stolen his treasure, as against the whole human race, and binding himself in body and soul to prey upon the unwary whenever he should meet them, till his loss and all the suffering it had cost him should be atoned for a thousand-fold.
In order the better to arrange the plan of operations by which this resolution should be put in practice, Whitlaw on quitting the house of Squire Grampton strode away towards the Levee; and for two hours solaced himself with a walk beside the father of waters; during which he reasoned with all his natural acuteness, and acquired wisdom upon the nature of his actual position, and the uses to which it might be applied.
He remembered with some satisfaction, though assuredly it was accompanied by a sharp pang, that he still had one hundred silver dollars in his bag. This was the sum he had coaxed out of his father, and it now constituted his entire capital.
How best could he multiply this a hundredfold? The proposed partnership offered by the clumsy player again occurred to him. At first he had not felt greatly disposed to listen to it, because it appeared to him evident that he was himself the sharper rogue of the two. It was certain, indeed, that his quick eye had detected the latent skill of his proposed associate even in the manner by which he lost his game; while he, on the contrary, had been completely deluded by Whitlaw’s well-acted assumption of rustic simplicity. Nevertheless, his after by-play when he proposed that Whitlaw’s notes of hand should be taken was by no means contemptible; not to mention that the very act in which he had detected him, of throwing dust in the eyes of the honest Kentuckian, said much in favour of his being admitted to the friendship he solicited.
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 27