Forty Years a Gambler on the Mississippi Part 30

"He can not e'en essay to walk sedate, But in his very gait one sees a jest That's ready to break out in spite of all His seeming."

Some years ago Judge Smith was upon the bench of the Police Court at New Orleans, and during the time Judge Wilson occupied the same position at Cincinnati.

Judge Smith made a trip to the North one summer, and stopped at Cincinnati for a few days on his way home.

While in the Queen City he formed the acquaintance of Judge Moses F. Wilson, and as he was in the "thirty-fifty" business like himself, he felt as though they were somewhat akin.

Judge Smith was very fond of a joke, and when he met Mose Wilson, he met a good-humored man, who had a fondness for "gags," and was ever joking.

These kindred spirits were soon well pleased with each other.

Wilson felt that the duty of entertaining a fellow Judge from a sister city was inc.u.mbent upon him, and he just spread himself to do it.

They had a right royal time together, but all things must come to an end some time, and the time had come for Judge Smith to tear himself away and return once more to the field of his labor. They bid each other an affectionate good-bye, but not until after Mose had promised Smith to visit him the next winter, and stay forevermore.

Judge Smith was at the depot. His baggage was on board, and he was just stepping upon the platform, when two gentlemen stepped up, and one of them said:

"We want you," at the same time displaying his police badge.

"What for?" inquired Smith.

"Suspicion," replied the officer.

"Gentlemen, you are mistaken; I am Judge of the Police Court of New Orleans."

"Oh! you are? Well, we never arrest a fellow like you that he is not a Judge, lawyer, doctor, or some big bug somewhere, to hear him tell it; but you take a walk with us up to the chief's office, and explain to him who and what you are."

Smith saw it was of no use trying to explain. The train was moving off with his baggage on board, and he was left (in the hands of the two officers). They marched him up to the chief's office, and when they arrived everything seemed to be in readiness for an immediate trial; for there was Judge Wilson, the prosecuting attorney, and quite a number of witnesses.

Smith was found guilty of desertion. The judge fined him (a bottle), and ordered that he be confined within the city limits for one day.

Smith paid the fine, but pleaded to be let off from the imprisonment.

Judge Wilson was firm (for once in his life), so poor Smith had to serve out his time; but the Judge was kind enough to see that he did not suffer for the want of anything, and when he was set at liberty he was like some birds born and raised in a cage. They like the confinement, and when the door is open they will not fly away; but frighten the bird, and away it will go. It was so with Smith; he had already stayed too long. He got frightened and flew away to the sunny South.

The cold blasts of winter were sweeping over the North, when Judge Wilson remembered his promise made to Judge Smith to visit him in New Orleans, and he was soon on his way to make his promise good, for he is a man of his word.

He telegraphed Smith that he would arrive on a certain train, expecting, of course, that he would be received with a bra.s.s band, etc.

The train on which Mose was being transported from the land of snow to the land of flowers was about ten miles from New Orleans, when it pa.s.sed a northern-bound freight, and in a few moments two large men, with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons on their coats, came marching into the Cincinnati sleeper. They came down the aisle, closely scanning the faces of all the male pa.s.sengers. They halted at the seat occupied by Mose. They looked at him and then at a photograph they had with them. Finally one of them put his hand on Mose's shoulder, and said:

"We want you's."

The Judge took in the situation at once, for he had not forgotten the time he played a similar joke; but he did not like the idea of all the pa.s.sengers (especially as there were a great many ladies on board) thinking that he was under arrest in earnest. So he smiled one of those sweet smiles of his, and said:

"Officers, this is all a joke. I am Judge of the Police Court of Cincinnati, and I am well acquainted with the Judge of your Court.

I expected to be received in New Orleans with a bra.s.s band, in place of bra.s.s b.u.t.tons."

"Do yez hear that? He a Judge of the Police Court; expected to be received wid a bra.s.s band. Why, he's got more bra.s.s than there is in twenty bra.s.s bands. He's the biggest thafe in the whole country.

Didn't we see the chafe go right straight to the rogue's gallery and get his picture; and didn't he tell Pat and meself to come out here and arrest yez, and didn't we's ride on a freight train?"

Mose saw it was no use trying to make the officers or pa.s.sengers understand that it was a joke, so he said:

"All right, I will go with you."

"Of course yez will. Won't he, Pat?"

"You bet he will," says Pat.

The officers sat down facing him, so they could keep a watch on him, for they were afraid he would try to jump out the window.

When the train arrived at New Orleans the officers got a carriage (at Mose's request), and they were driven to the chief's office.

The chief pretended not to know the Honorable Judge, and told him to send for his friends. He called for an officer to take Mose down and lock him up, when in walked Judge Smith. Mose smiled and said:

"Smith, I owe you one."

Judge Smith told the chief he would be responsible for Mose while in the city, so he let him go. There was a carriage in waiting.

They got in and were driven to Leon's restaurant, where they found a large number of Judge Smith's friends and a fine dinner awaiting them.

After dinner, while we were drinking to Mose's health and smoking cigars, Judge Smith requested me to show our honored guest the baby ticket. I did, and downed him for a bottle, but it did not cost him a cent, for his Queen City money was no good in the Crescent City so long as he remained with the Judge, for they were kindred spirits.

TAPPED THE TILL.

It is often said that faro banks are never broke, but I recall one incident that will prove the contrary. It was during the war, and a number of us were playing together at New Orleans at Charlie Bush's, my old partner. They were all high rollers, and when one of them, who was a big loser, went to get his checks cashed for $1,000, the cas.h.i.+er pulled out the drawer and found that the bottom had been cut out, and all the money was gone. Some snoozer had crawled under the table, and with a sharp knife cut the bottom clear out. Of course the proprietors were very mad, but the joke was such a good one that it wouldn't keep. Still, in spite of all this, I had rather deposit my money in faro banks than the Fidelity, of Cincinnati, and I guess all honest citizens feel the same way.

A SQUARE GAME.

I met a man in a saloon one night at Cincinnati. He was a stranger, and he inquired of me if I knew of a good, big poker game. I told him there were no public games running at that time, that most of the hotels had games, but they were private. We took a drink or two together, and he again remarked that he would like a game. I invited him to my room, and we had a nice, square game from that time until morning. I won $900 from him, and as he was about broke I invited him to take breakfast with me. After we had finished breakfast and were smoking our cigars he began to kick. I told him if he was that kind of a man I would never play with him any more. I left him and went to bed. I got up in the afternoon and went out on the street, when I saw my poker friend in company with Detective Steve Mead. Then I knew he was a kicker, sure enough.

Mead told me the chief wanted to see me, so we started for his office. On our way up Central Avenue we stopped to get a drink.

I thought I could trust the good-looking barkeeper, so I just threw a roll over behind the counter, and was then ready to see his Honor.

The chief asked me if I won the man's money. I told him I did.

"But," said Chief Woods, "he said you cheated him."

I replied: "Why, chief, how could I, a man that knows but very little about cards, cheat an old gambler like this fellow?"

"I'm no gambler," replied the kicker.

The chief asked Mead what he had learned, and he said:

"They were playing a square game of poker."

"That settles it," said the chief.

So I walked out and down to where I had left my roll. The good- looking young man handed it over, and since then I have always thought Billy Gruber was an honest man and deserved to own two of the finest saloons in the Queen City.

A COWARD.