Lovers and Husbands CHAPTER 17.
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During the afternoon and evening that Whitney and the planter were together, they drank frequently, sometimes at the suggestion of one, and sometimes the other. Whitney had been more guarded as to the quantity taken at each successive "drink;" and, besides, he could tolerate twice as much as the other. When they stepped from the theater, the planter was not in a very sober state; many indications of this had been seen by Whitney while the play was in progress.
"You remember," said the latter, as they walked towards the hotel, arm-in-arm, "what we were talking about this morning? The subject, in fact, that made us acquainted?"
"Oh yes; about the young man in New Orleans who was such a fool as to blow his brains out."
"Yes, that was it. He got into the company of a regular sharper, who fleeced him in less than no time. One of your cut-throat black-legs."
"The only thing about it that vexed me," returned the stranger, "was, that the chap didn't put his pistol to the cheating scoundrel's ear instead of his own. It could have been just as easily done."
"Just as easily; and certainly a much more rational proceeding," chimed in Whitney. "The world would have been rid of another villain."
"Truly said. Get me into such a predicament, and see how neatly I'd do the thing."
There was an earnestness about the manner in which this was said, that sounded rather unpleasantly to the ear of Whitney; but he trusted to its being mere braggadocio. The time had now come for him to bring the game he had been playing all day with such consummate skill, to a termination. This required some address; but the "pigeon" was in a very good condition, and quite ready to be "spitted."
"Well, I believe we have seen about all that is worth looking at." he said, pausing a short distance from the public-house, "unless you have the curiosity to look into one of those execrable places, well named 'hells.' There are two or three in this neighborhood. I never was inside of any of them but once in my life, and then I was in search of an infatuated friend. But it might be a matter of interest to you just to see how such things are managed. I merely mention it. If you had rather not, I'm sure I have no curiosity in regard to the matter."
"Can you go in and come away without attracting attention?"
"Oh, certainly. No one will take any notice of you."
"Then I would like to go above all things in the world. I want to know how the thing is done."
"Well, just as you like," Whitney said, indifferently. "Let me see. Where shall we go first? Oh, yes! we'll drop into Corbini's. That's worth a visit. It's close at hand into the bargain.
The two companions then turned down a dark-looking street, along which they proceeded for the distance of two or three hundred yards, when they paused before what seemed a house of entertainment. And so it appeared only to be — at least to the countryman — on entering it; for the first thing that met his eye was a handsome bar, with two or three attendants, around which a number of people were standing, some talking, some eating oysters, and others drinking. The "pigeon" had taken quite as much as Whitney wished him to take. Still, he insisted on another drink. Lemonade was proposed and agreed to; so they took a glass of lemonade together.
"Now let us go up and look around us," said Whitney.
"Up where?"
"Upstairs into the gambling-room. No one will know us."
Saying this, Whitney led the way, and the other followed. The first room they entered was richly furnished with carpets, marble-slab tables, and mirrors. There was no one in it but themselves. After looking around for some time, and admiring its arrangement, they passed into a second room. There they found a party of four at gambling. The individuals composing this party were so intent upon their game, that they only glanced at the strangers, and then became entirely absorbed in their occupation. Two considerable piles of money lay upon each side of the table. Portions of these were every now and then changed from one to the other, backward and forward, according as the game progressed. The planter looked on for some time, until he became quite interested. Whitney at length touched his arm, and the two passed into a third room. Several tables were in this room, and two or three little groups engaged at cards. One or two men were walking about, as mere spectators, looking first at one table and then at another. As Whitney and his new friend came in, one of them advanced to the Whitney, and taking him cordially by the hand, said, in a low tone,
"Why, hello, Bob! what, in the name of seven wonders, are you doing here? It's about the last place in all creation I would expect to see you."
"And I might ask the same question of you — though, like myself, I suppose you have come out of mere curiosity, to see what is to be seen; but let me make you acquainted with my friend, Mr. Melton, from Philadelphia. This, Mr. Melton — is Mr. Hopewell, of the house of Thompson, Hopewell, and Smith."
Hands were shaken and hats tipped quite gracefully, when Whitney spoke on.
"Mr. Melton and I have been riding about most of the afternoon to see what was worth seeing in our environs. Tonight we went to the play; and now we are here to finish the day in sight-seeing. I thought it would be a rare treat for my friend to get a glance within this charmed circle. It must be a new world to him."
"Indeed it is," said the planter, "quite a new world; and much indebted am I for your kindness in taking so much trouble to oblige me."
"There are many more rooms besides those we have yet been in," Whitney returned to this, moving towards a door that seemed to open into a suite of rooms beyond. "Won't you walk around with us, Mr. Hopewell?"
"Oh, certainly, with the greatest pleasure;" and Mr. Hopewell joined them in their walk. After going through several rooms, and lingering among them for some time, they came to a small but more richly-furnished room than any they had yet seen, far back from the street, in the third story of the building. A neat chandelier with a profusion of brilliant chandeliers hung from the ceiling immediately over a table covered with a slab of beautiful variegated Italian marble. Upon this was a pack of cards, that looked as if they had never been handled, except for a very few times.
"Really, this is beautiful!" ejaculated Whitney, gazing around for some moments with well-affected astonishment, and then quietly seating himself upon a sofa. His companions imitated his example.
"One can hardly believe that this handsome room is dedicated to the nefarious purposes that it is," the individual introduced as Hopewell said.
"It seems scarcely possible," replied Whitney; "and yet, it has seen the ruin of many a poor fellow."
"No doubt of it;" and as Hopewell said this, he drew a chair up to the table and commenced looking over the pack of cards. Some remark about them brought Whitney to his side, and the planter, of course.
"It would be quite a novel affair, wouldn't it, Bob," remarked Hopewell, laughing, "for us to take a quiet game here, with the very cards that have done so much mischief?"
Whitney shook his head. "Perhaps my friend here would rather not."
"Oh no, gentlemen, I have not the slightest objection to a game or two. I am very fond of whist," replied Melton, promptly.
"Three can't play at whist," objected Whitney.
"I saw Harry Sanders downstairs," the man called Hopewell immediately said. "Harry Sanders, of the firm of Max and Pimlico. I'll ask him to join us, if you've no objections."
"You may do so if you choose," Whitney replied, half indifferently.
Hopewell went downstairs — but returned in a short time with a fine, gentlemanly-looking individual, who was greeted by Whitney with familiarity. Between him and the planter, an introduction took place. Then cotton-planting and cotton-selling were talked about for some time.
"But didn't you say that you wanted me to take a hand at whist?" Sanders at length remarked, interrupting the conversation.
"True," returned Hopewell; and the four at once surrounded the table.
We need not follow, step by step, the progress of the games that followed, nor go into a detail of the little artifices resorted to in order to induce the more than half-intoxicated planter to stake his money. It is sufficient to say that he was gradually led on and on, until he was fairly in the toils so skillfully laid for his feet. When he left that "infernal region," at an hour far advanced towards morning — he had seen the last of thirty thousand dollars pass from his trembling hands!
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