Evening Capital

THE GAMBLERS PRIDE

Gambling Implements with a Peculiar History

A Washington letter to the Philadelphia Record says: I heard a queer secret last night. It was simply this—that the finest set of faro checks in the world was now in Washington in the possession of a colored barber. I don't know anything about such things, but I am told that these checks are simply perfection. They are of the purest and costliest African ivory, every one being perfect in shape and construction. They are inlaid with gold in curious, unique patterns, some of which have never been seen in any other designs. They are supposed to be worth about $2,000, although they could be bought from the man who now holds them for much less. Of course, they do not belong to him. He got them somewhere in the South, and has ever since been trying to dispose of them. But no one wants to buy them, despite the assurance that their last owner is dead, lest he may not be dead; for if he is alive he could follow those checks all over the world, so peculiar are they. Their story is just as peculiar. Here it is: In the decade before the late war a noted gambler, whom we will call Bob, relieved rich planters and fat factors of their money on the fastest Mississippi river steamers with neatness and dispatch. He had worked his way up through a swarm of inferior gamblers, with now and then a set-back, until he set himself to be the foremost gambler on the river. He combined all the qualities that go to make up the successful gambler, possessing each to a remarkable degree. He was the coolest man of his time, and the quickest with his knife and the most terrible in his profanity. His luck was something wonderful, for he won almost continuously, and yet he played as honest a game as can ever be expected of a gambler. It was one bright spring day, after a great run of luck which had made him for the time a rich man, that he conceived the idea of owning the handsomest set of faro checks in the world. So he ordered a set to be made in New Orleans. The man who took his order sent it to Paris, and the checks were made there by the finest ivory and gold workers in the world. He gave something like $2,500 for them. He never used them except when playing "big games." But then he seldom played anything else. There must be $1,000, at least, involved, or he took no interest in the game. One night, while he was playing for stakes which would probably come to $10,000, the luck seemed against him. He was as cool and as calm as ever, but the lookers-on remarked upon the size of the veins in his white forehead. Then they remembered that the luck had been against him for some time, and calculated that he must have lost most of "his pile." The fact was that he had, and that he was desperate; but he said nothing. At last the game was over—long after midnight. The tide of the gambler's fortunes had ebbed and ebbed until almost all that he had had been swept out of sight. The last dollar had gone. Only one thing remained to him—the set of checks with which the game was being played. He looked at them almost lovingly, for they had become dear to him. On them had been wagered gold and silver, negroes, lands, steamboats and plantations which had been his. Now everything had passed over them again and was gone. With one wild horrible oath he rose to his full height, and before his hand could be stayed, plunged his long knife into his heart and fell full length across the table, while his life-blood spurted over his precious checks. Since that night they have wandered all over the United States, seeing scenes of daring and of bloodshed differing only in degree from those of their life on the Mississippi river, until now they are come in possession of a Washington barber. He does not seem to know that they carry a curse.