A record of the game is kept by means of an implement known as a “case-keeper,” which is usually placed in care of an employe of the establishment. This device is a miniature “lay-out,” with four buttons attached to each wire as shown in the illustration. These buttons run on wires, one of which extends from the end of each card. When the deal begins, all the buttons are shoved up close to the cards; as soon as a “turn” is made, the two buttons opposite the cards dealt are shoved to the opposite ends of their respective wires. This enables anyone around the table to see, at a glance, how many cards of each denomination remain in the dealer’s box. When all four cards of any one denomination have been dealt, that is said to be “dead.” When three cards of any one denomination have been dealt, the one remaining in the box is called the “case,” or “single card.”

It may sometimes happen that the tally of a player will not agree with that of the case keeper, owing to the fact that the dealer has withdrawn two cards where he should have taken one. In such a case, a trick known as the “put back” is employed. A confederate of the dealer attracts the attention of the players while the extra card or cards taken from the box are adroitly returned to it by the dealer. Of course, there must be a perfect understanding between the latter and the case keeper, so that when two cards are dealt at once a signal may be given showing the denomination of the second card.

In case a player making a bet finds that he has been misled by the incorrectness of the record kept by the cue keeper, the invariable rule is that the bet must be determined by the cards remaining in the dealing box, a regulation which is, to say the least, not at all to the disadvantage of the bank.

But the cheating is not all on one side, and a device called a hair “copper” is sometimes employed by players to guard against a possible loss on a certain description of bets. This hair “copper” consists of a piece of shoemaker’s wax, the color of the check, a horse hair, and a string of rubber attached to a band around the wrist, secreted in the sleeve. The wax adheres to the copper at one end of the horse hair, which is invisible, the other end being fastened to the rubber string which is extended in the hand to the tops of the fingers. Placing this copper on a bet, if the turn comes in favor of the dealer the player quickly and without observation loosens the rubber which jerks the “copper” into his sleeve, causing the dealer to pay the bet he may have fairly won.

Another scheme for beating the dealer is not infrequently resorted to by professional gamblers. It is technically known among them as “snaking” the card. This consists of “ringing in” upon the proposed victim of certain prepared cards, which are placed among the other dealing cards in some secret manner, and at a time when he is not aware of it. Sometimes, when no other opportunity presents itself, the faro dealer’s room is entered by false keys during his absence, and his cards are so operated upon that the operator can, to a certainty, break the bank at the first opportunity. There are gamblers who travel through the country for the purpose of “snaking” games, seldom engaging in any other species of gaming, and it often happens that many professionals are badly bled through this means without suspecting it. Sometimes the services of some person who is a stranger to the dealer are secured to play against the bank in order to allay suspicion.

The modes of “snaking” are various. One of the earliest consists of placing an extra plate in the dealing-box, in connection with a piece of steel not larger than a cambric needle. The cards are then cut on the edges in such a way that the appearance and disappearance of this piece of steel tells whether the next card will win or lose. This steel point, in the rapidity of its motion, was compared to a snake’s tongue, and it is probable that the origin of the term “snaking” is to be found in this fancied resemblance.

Another method of “snaking” cards is as follows: The deck is prepared. Let us suppose that the “pot” cards—the six, seven and eight—are the ones selected. A pack of cards is taken, and the sixes, sevens, and eights sanded on the backs and the remainder of the pack on the faces. Small dots are then made on the face of each card in the deck, near the edge. The position of these dots is determined by measuring on the card with the plate which belongs to the dealing box. Now, when a sanded deck of cards is placed in a “sand tell” dealing box, every time a card is taken from the box the card next to the one taken moves a little forward in consequence of the card taken from the box pressing on the one underneath it. But, with these “snaked” cards, the case is somewhat different; while dealing with these cards, should a smooth one be next to the one drawn from the box, it would be drawn a little forward, i. e., if there is not one of these “sanded” cards underneath this smooth one. If there should be one of the sanded cards under the smooth one, the card left on the top, after making a turn, will be held back by the sanded card which is underneath it, and it will not be pulled forward at all. Now, when a card which is left on the top, after making a turn, is pulled forward, these dots (above mentioned) are visible on the face of the card, denoting that neither of the pot cards can lose on the first turn; consequently the pot cards are played to win as long as this dot is visible on the face of the top card. But, in case, after a turn is made, the top card should not move forward, then the dot on the face of the card underneath could not be seen, which shows that one of the pot cards (which are the six, seven or eight) will certainly lose on that turn; of course the pot is instantly coppered, that is, betting that these cards will lose.

Another and simpler plan is to perforate all the cards of a certain description, perhaps of either dark suit, from the two to the ten, with an instrument known as the “card punch,” of which the accompanying illustration will enable the reader to form a fair conception.

It is made of the finest steel, and is employed to puncture cards at the center. A “deck” thus prepared is substituted for that which the banker intends to place in the box. Sometimes, however, in this “diamond cut diamond” game, an entrance is effected to the dealer’s room and the “punch” is employed on his own cards. The substitution of the prepared pack for that of the banker is the fundamental point to be attained, and occasionally resort is had to desperate expedients. A fight is raised, and in the melee which ensues the dealer’s box is thrown upon the floor and the substitution quickly accomplished.

This shameless trick is played by one gambler upon another without the slightest compunction. What a commentary does this afford upon the hollowness of the old adage regarding “honor among thieves.” The author having never been guilty of larceny, as defined by either the common law or the criminal code, cannot speak for “thieves” technically defined as such. As to those greater thieves known as gamblers, however, he does not hesitate to say that among them “honor” is a word as unmeaning as the mirage of the desert is illusory.

But to return to the punctured cards. The holes made by the punch are so small that the player is often “beaten” by it. Whenever a white surface is seen through this small hole, the player is perfectly certain that the card underneath is the deuce, four, six, seven, eight or ten, and may accordingly back these cards to win for himself with absolute certainty. If a colored surface is discerned, he is equally certain that the next card will be of another denomination.

Yet another method is to sandpaper the edges of one-half the cards. Then, as the edge of the under card is seen through the slit in the dealing box, the outside player can tell in which half it belongs by noticing whether it is bright or dull. Of course, to practice this successfully, the player must remember correctly the cards making up each half; but when the division is made upon a system, this is an easy matter.

Besides the methods of cheating already described, which relate more particularly to the preparation of the cards and the construction and operation of the dealing box, there are other methods well known to professionals, which may be employed with comparative immunity and great success against the unsuspecting.

A favorite stratagem is to use a prepared deck containing fifty-three cards, one more than the legitimate pack contains, known among the fraternity as the “odd.” The odd card is never seen by the player; and as the cues come out correct, there is nothing of which he can complain. The advantage of its use to the gambler is that it gives him one sure turn during each deal, and he usually prefers to employ it on the last turn. In such a case, it is impossible for the bettor to win on the call, and he is equally certain to lose on any bet which he may make on that turn. The advantage of such a large additional percentage in favor of the game is palpable. A large proportion of players are fond of calling the “last turn,” because of the greater odds given by the bank; they are also more disposed to bet high on single cards at this stage of the deal, for the reason that a “split” is impossible. This is called playing cases. The manner in which a deck of fifty-three cards may be manipulated to the certain loss of such bettors may be best shown by means of an illustration. The denomination of the extra card is a matter of no importance, but we will suppose it to be an ace; its introduction would then make five aces in the pack. All the cards are then sanded except these five aces, which are marked on the edges with one or two dots, so as to be instantly recognized. The deck, having been thus prepared, is played in the following manner: The cards are first shuffled a few times from bottom to top, the dealer not then knowing the position of any card. The latter then commences finding the aces, which is easily accomplished, inasmuch as they are the only cards not sanded and are marked on the edges. While shuffling he places one ace on the top of the deck, over this he places a card of some other denomination, and on this another ace, and over this again yet another card. A false cut (which is accomplished in various ways, and is really no cut at all) is then given to the cards, which are next placed, faces upward, in the dealing box, the arranged cards being of course now at the bottom. Let us suppose that when the last turn is reached it consists of an ace, king and queen. Of course there are really two aces in the box, though only one is shown. If the dealer wishes to make the ace lose, all that he need do is to turn one card and then take two cards instead of one, through the aid of his “faked” box, the bottom one of these two cards being one of the aces, this leaves one card in the box, as there should be. Should he desire to make the ace win, he draws two on the first pull, and only one afterward, which results in one of the aces never being seen, making the cues on the last turn come out correct. Sometimes the cards are cut fairly, and the extra card comes in the middle of the deck; in such a case, when the dealer arrives where the aces are arranged, he is aware of it and acts in the same manner as has been already described when they are placed so as to fall in the last turn. Sometimes two odd cards are added to the deck, making the pack consist of fifty-four cards. When properly manipulated, the dealer has the advantage of being able to manage two turns instead of one.

Even when both cards and dealing box are perfectly “square,” it is still in the power of the professional gambler to take such advantages of persons not posted as to be morally certain of winning their money. For instance, should a player select certain favorite cards on which to bet (as is often the case), on the next deal the dealer may easily cause such cards to win or lose all the way through as he may desire, the bettor never suspecting that the run was not a matter of pure chance. As these favorite cards come out of the box, the dealer—at a moment when the bettor is not observing—places them at the bottom at the end of the deal, where they are not disturbed while shuffling. The deck is then “run in” endwise, and these cards being separated, will either win or lose throughout the game.

“Faked” dealing boxes are not always the “thing of beauty” and perennial source of joy which their manipulators would like to see them. They occasionally “get out of order;” a little sand works its way between the plates, and even an expert “brace” dealer finds it more or less difficult so to use the device that its employment cannot be detected. At Laredo, Texas, a few years ago, a “professional,” who is now dealer at a famous house in a Western city, encountered a difficulty of this sort. He “pulled” two cards, but so clumsily that the “sucker” observed it. “What’s the matter with your box?” the player asked. “O, it’s a little old, and don’t work just right,” was the answer. “Well, see here,” said the Texan, “that was an almighty short deal, somehow. Reckon I’m going to lose money any way; but hadn’t you better go a little slower and make one of them long deals? I’d like to take a little more time.” The game progressed and the stranger rose from the table a loser to the amount of three hundred dollars. “Look here,” he remarked to the dealer, “I reckon you’d better give me back the money you’ve cheated me out of.” The gambler, with an air of the utmost nonchalance, replied that he would be blanked if he gave back any of it. “Well,” remarked the countryman, as he drew down his slouch hat over his eyes and left the room, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” No sooner had he left than one of the employes of the establishment took the proprietor aside and advised him either to return the money or close the place at once, if he did not want the victim to return and shoot him “on sight.” The proprietor was a capital “brace” dealer, but physical courage was not his chief characteristic. He lost no time in acting on his subordinate’s suggestion. Hastily raising the window he called out to the victim—whose rapidly vanishing form was still in sight—“I say, you! Come back here a minute; I want to see you.” The “sucker” came back; the gambler greeted him cordially. “You old idiot,” said he, “can’t you take a little joke? Of course I knew that you were ‘capping,’ (i. e. acting as ‘capper’) for the game. Here’s your money old man.”man.” He handed him a roll of currency, which the stranger pocketed with a grim smile of satisfaction. But subsequent events proved that the proprietor “had builded better than he knew.” Sitting around the room were other men who had lost money and seen a fellow sufferer receive back his losses, it did not take long for the crowd to extinguish the lights, and in the darkness the unlucky dealer was “held up” for every dollar that he had with him.

3rd. The third adjunct to success in a “brace” faro game is by no means the least important. Confederates on the outside are considered sine qua non in every “skin” gaming hell. They are technically known as “ropers” or “steerers.” This euphonious appellation sufficiently indicates at once their character and the nature of the duties with which they are charged. The man who for a percentage and under the guise of friendship lures a man to loss is, if possible, morally lower than the scoundrel who robs him.

To be a good “steerer,” a man should possess some education and be endowed with a courteous and affable demeanor. The more polished his manners, the greater the value of his services. Men of this stamp hang about the depots, infest the corridors of hotels of every grade, and patrol the streets with far more watchfulness than does the average policeman. Their methods do not vary, in any marked respect, from those employed by “cappers” and “steerers” in other games, which are fully disclosed under other head lines. About the same qualifications are expected of faro and “bunko steerers,” and those required of the latter are plainly indicated in Chapter VIII.

There is, however, a class of “ropers” who do rather more than “dirty” work. These men hang about the entrances to houses which are alleged and believed to be “square,” turn out the gas in the stairway, and when a would-be player presents himself, assure him that “the house is closed for the night, but that they (or he) can ‘show him where a game is running.’” Should the verdant dupe be sufficiently gullible to believe the story, one of these miscreants “steers” him to a “brace” house, sees that he is “plucked,” and then claims and receives his percentage on the amount which the victim has lost.

Among broken-down gamblers who have lost the last vestige of self-respect, another game is popular. Individuals of this sort will hang about the side-walk in front of a “hell.” When a player goes up-stairs into the rooms, they watch him. If they can gain access to the house they watch his play; if they are too disreputable in appearance to be allowed inside the doors, they await his return. In either event, they ascertain whether he has lost or won. If the former, they promptly present themselves before the proprietor and claim the usual percentage paid to a “steerer,” and usually receive it. This sort of scamp is known among the fraternity as a “gutter snipe.”

Once in a while one of them proves himself of some service. On a certain evening, two young men had been playing faro at a “skin” house on the Bowery, in New York. They had pooled their resources and one of them had been doing all the betting. Their losses footed up about eighty dollars. After coming down stairs they stood upon the corner, bewailing their hard luck, when they were accosted by an individual who, although decidedly seedy, presented the appearance of being the wreck of what was once a gentleman. He told them that he had overheard their conversation and asked them if they would like to get a part of their money back. Being answered in the affirmative, he went on to say that he himself did not dare to go up into the rooms, but that if the man who had not done the betting would return alone and claim to have been acting as a “steerer,” he would receive from the proprietor a “capper’s” percentage of the house’s winnings. The advice was acted upon; one of the two again mounted the stairs, entered the apartmentapartment, demanded his forty-five per cent. of the money lost and received it without objection. The stranger was made happy by receiving a five dollar bill, and the friends walked away considerably wiser, if somewhat poorer, than when they first entered the den.

While speaking of “steerers” there is one fact which should not be overlooked. Not a few of the proprietors of the so-called “square” houses run “brace” games at other localities, “on the quiet.” These men keep “ropers” at the foot of the stairways leading up to their respectable (?) establishments, whose duty it is to inform any particularly verdant “sucker” that there is “no game being played here to-night,” and then “steer” him to the place where he can be fleeced with more ease and expedition. The same tactics are employed at times when public sentiment compels the closing of the gaming hells. The “reputable” gamblers shut their doors, and open a room either at a hotel or in some out of the way location, whither their “steerers” guide victims, thus partially at least, recouping their losses resulting from the closing of their regular rooms. Where they do not open other places they sometimes “stand in” with the keepers of “skin” rooms, to have their employes “steer” their patrons to the latter resorts, the “square” players, of course, receiving a percentage of the winnings.

The better class of houses of play close at about two o’clock in the morning, when the cards, dealing boxes and other paraphernalia are given a few hours rest. Others are open all night, and at Pueblo, Colorado, there is a resort whose doors are never closed. At all establishments, however, there are at least two sets of employes, known respectively as the “day” and “night-watch.” The day men arrive about nine in the morning, the dealer having the combination of the safe. He takes out the money, chips, cards, etc.; the “house is ready for business,” or to state it more accurately, the trap is set and baited for fresh game.

It is generally during the earlier hours of the day-watch that the game is “thrown off,” if at all. This term is a bit of gambler’s slang, and always means that some one is victimized through a gross breach of good faith, in other words, the victim is “thrown” to a confederate as a bone to a dog. The “throwing off a game” is usually worked as follows: Suppose that A, B and C enter into partnership to conduct a gaming house. A and B secretly agree to defraud C of the capital which he has advanced. C closes the house at night and A opens in the morning. B arranges with an outside party to come to the house in the morning while C is absent, and by collusion with the dealer, A, “win out the roll,” as it is technically termed, that is, win the money of the firm so that C’s share may be divided among the two scoundrels. Of all dastardly confidence games this may be probably set down as the meanest, and the fact that it is ever done shows how far the maxim “honor among thieves” applies to professional blacklegs.

The establishment at Pueblo to which reference has been made above, is probably the largest in the United States. It contains six faro tables, four roulette wheels, four hazard tables, two “stud” poker tables, two “draw” poker tables, one “short faro” table, one vingt-un table, one hieronymus bowl, and one table for playing a game known as “high suit.” They are all in one large room, which opens directly off the street, without any pretense of concealment, and contains, besides, a bar and a lunch counter. Back of this is an apartment in which occur two drawings daily, and yet farther in the rear is a keno room, where a game is run every night. This mammoth hell never closes its doors. Three sets of employes relieve each other, each “shift” (a designation for the alternate “watches,” borrowed from the phraseology of the Colorado miners) being on duty eight hours. As may be imagined, the cost of running such an establishment is enormous, and the fact that the proprietors continue to prosper financially shows that dupes are found in abundance.

There is one feature in the management of this Pueblo resort peculiar to itself. It is a very common thing in all gambling houses for a player who “has lost his roll” to ask a donation—or a “loan,” as he prefers to call it—of a small sum, wherewith to get a drink, procure a meal, or pay for a night’s lodging. Only in the lowest dives is such a request refused. In the Pueblo den, however, a different system is pursued. The proprietors never give money to any man, for the reason that they apprehend that the beneficiary might use it in playing against the house. At the same time no sober applicant (unless a chronic “dead beat”), whether player or stranger, is ever refused a drink, a cigar, a square meal, or a night’s lodging. Instead of cash, however, he is given a brass check which, while not receivable at the tables as stakes, is good at the bar, the lunch counter, or at a lodging house owned and run by the establishment, for refreshments of whatever kind he may desire.

This is a vastly simplified modification of the game of faro. The lay-out consists of six cards—ace, king, queen, jack, ten, and nine. The dealer commonly uses two or more packs, which he shuffles and usually deals from his hand, though sometimes from a box. The first three cards run off are for “the house,” and are dealt faces down and not exposed. The second three cards are for the player and are shown. Bettors place their stakes on the card or cards in the lay-out which they may select before the deal begins. The mode of play may be best shown by an illustration: Suppose a player wagers a dollar on the queen. If one of the three cards exposed happens to be a queen he wins one dollar; if two are queens he receives double the amount of his stake; if all three should prove to be queens the dealer returns him his original stake augmented by three times the amount; if no queen is shown the “house” gathers in the stake. It does not require a particularly erudite mathematician to discover that the odds at this game are enormously in favor of the bank. In the first place the player can win only should one of six cards out of fifty-two turn up. Moreover, of the six cards dealt he is allowed to see only three, thus reducing his already insignificant chances by one half. Even when fairly played the game, like roulette, is little short of downright robbery by the dealer, and when to this preponderance of chances one adds the numerous advantages which a professional “brace” dealer has over a greenhorn it is easy to foretell who will have the money at the end of the game.

The attentive reader will find, at various parts of this volume, allusions to the tacit understanding which often exists between the fraternity of black-legs and the police. The personal experience of the author is referred to and the chapter devoted to local gambling is replete with recitals of facts which afford food for reflection.

It may not be out of place here, however, to describe briefly the methods adopted for rendering ineffective even a carefully planned and honestly executed raid, if undertaken or managed by inexperienced or incompetent officers. The latter on gaining entrance to a room do not find any gambling in progress and are therefore unable to capture any property or make any arrests. The outer doors of the resorts are usually constructed of ponderous oak timbers, from four to ten inches thick, fastened together by means of heavy iron bolts. Of late years steel has been substituted for wood, and it is said that at one of the Chinese gambling hells in San Francisco the doors are made of thick rubber, resembling car springs in texture, the elasticity of which repels the blows of a sledge hammer as a marble pavement gives a rebound to a rubber ball. The object of making such doors is, of course, to prevent forcible intrusion. It is not of the employment of violence, however, that I am about to speak, but of those raids where the officers are given admission. It should be added that not infrequently entrance is granted, after a short delay, because the hospitable proprietors have been privately warned of the intended visit.

A small aperture in the door enables the door-keepers, one of whom is always in attendance, to inspect applicants for admission before undoing the bolts. If the custodian is in doubt as to the character of the callers, the proprietor is summoned. If the visitors are recognized as officers, an electric bell sounds a note of warning, and a parley between the blue-coats and the Cerebus at the portal follows. In the twinkling of an eye the cards, boxes, chips, lay-out, case-keeper, and money disappear into the safe. The table is at once transformed into an ordinary round-topped affair, covered with a crimson cloth. Scattered around the room are well dressed, quiet mannered gentlemen engaged in reading the newspapers, in discussing politics, or in general conversation. The police see nothing, and after apologizing for their intrusion, withdraw. Often the proprietor accompanies them to the stairway, and, cordially shaking hands, leaves in the honest (?) palm of the one in command a substantial token of his readiness to “bury the hatchet.” Scarcely have they reached the sidewalk before the table is placed in position, the safe unlocked, the money and paraphernalia taken out, the players resume their seats, and the game goes on as before. Is it surprising that the man who witnesses such a farce as this should entertain a contempt for the very name of law?

From what has been said, some unsophisticated reader may be led to suppose that running a faro bank is a short and easy road to fortune. No more fatal mistake could be made. Professional gamblers, almost without exception, die paupers. Nor is the reason far to seek. The gambler “on the inside,” is likely to win, even if the game is fairly played; and the skin dealer never loses, even by accident. But the curse of Heaven seems to attach to money thus accumulated. The winners rarely keep it long. The terrible fascination of the mania for gaming is no less potent with professionals than amateurs. The author might multiply illustrations, drawn from his own experience. A successful proprietor of a faro game will often draw from his safe thousands of his nefariously won money to drop it on the table in another house. Even Morrissey, the gambling king of the country, twice a member of the New York State Senate and later of the United States House of Representatives, owner of the most luxuriously appointed gambling house of the American metropolis and of the world famed “club house” at Saratoga, which vied with Monaco and Monte Carlo in its elegance—even Morrissey, the “prince of good fellows,” the idol of his friends, the once millionaire, died insolvent. The history of American gambling abounds in incidents scarcely less striking. Ephemeral success, debauchery, drunkenness, poverty, suicide or death from violence—this is the epitome of the career of the average blackleg. O! young men of America, you who are upon the very threshold of life, you who are in doubt as to “which way” you will direct your steps, you in whom are centered the fondest affections of so many hearts, you before whom so bright a future is opening, you upon whom depends the future of this great country, listen to the advice which comes from a heart that would avert from you the pangs which it has suffered. Believe one who has drained the cup to its very dregs, that at the bottom you will find only a serpent!

William Close,Close, one of the best known and most expert manipulators of a brace box known to American gamblers, who won heavily and bet as freely, died a pauper.

John Timmins, a successful dealer, “went broke” and in a fit of desperation, ended his miserable existence with a bullet.

Sam Cade, a “faro bank fiend” and one of the best poker players known in the “hells” was buried by a fund to which I was myself a subscriber.

These are but a tithe of the many instances that I might adduce in corroboration of the truth of what has been said.

An illustration of the well-nigh irreclaimable depravity of the case-hardened professional happened not many years ago in a St. Louis gambling house. A well dressed young man entered, sat down at the faro table, and in a very short time lost $500. His money gone, he hurriedly rose and left the room without a word. After his departure one of the “profession,” who was sitting in the room, looked toward the door and remarked, “Well, he dropped his little roll rather sudden.” Then he added, with a pensive air, “but it comes easy?” “What is he?” asked the dealer. “Why don’t you know?” was the inquiry of the first speaker. “He’s one of the finest ‘dips’ in the country.” “What’s a dip?” was the next conundrum of the proprietor. “Why, you driveling idiot,” replied his confrere, “a dip’s a pick-pocket.” “Well,” answered the winner, with a yawn, “I don’t care. Glad he makes money so easily. Hope he’ll ‘dip’ some more. A dip’s money is just as good to run bank with as any other.” And with this remark he wheeled about in his chair and was soon immersed in the newspaper, awaiting the arrival of another victim.

I cannot close this chapter on faro without a passing reference to an old gambler who at one time was a prominent figure all along the Mississippi valley, and whose face was as familiar to patrons of the river steamers as were the sand-bars which blocked the channel. I refer to “Colonel” Charles Starr. His long yarns were proverbial. According to his own story he owned half the plantations skirting the river. Occasionally some one would “pick him up” by telling him that he (the skeptic) was the owner of those broad acres. No such trifling circumstance as this abashed the “Colonel” in the least. Like Banquo’s ghost, he peremptorily and perennially refused to “down.”

Stories about him were as plentiful as “pickaninnies” about a negro cabin. It is said that once, at an Arkansas watering place, he was approached by an itinerant blackleg who asked for half a dollar with which to get something to eat. The “Colonel” surveyed him leisurely, from head to foot, before either granting or refusing his request. Finally he said: “How long did you say it was, young man, since you had anything to eat?” “Two days, Colonel.” “Well,” drawled Starr, “I reckon I don’t want to give you a half a dollar, but if you go without eating two days longer, I’ll give you a hundred dollars for your appetite.”

Starr was a gourmand, though a dyspeptic, and withal rather selfish. He went into a restaurant in New Orleans one day and ordered a sumptuous repast. A hungry, penniless gambler entered while he was eating, and approaching him, said: “Colonel, I’m awful hungry and I’m dead broke. Can’t you ‘stake’ me with some of that?” “Oh, no,” answered Starr, “you see, I’m a capper for the house, and my play doesn’t go.”

He accumulated a fair competence, but gambling and dissipation reduced him to poverty, and he died a pauper. The evening of the day preceding his death he entered a fashionable restaurant and ordered a dinner costing some seven or eight dollars. The proprietor called him on one side, and told him frankly that he did not feel disposed to “carry” him any longer, that he must pay cash for his order or it would not be filled. Starr said nothing, but went out and borrowed five dollars from a friend; returning, he threw it on a table and ordered the best meal obtainable for that sum. When it was set before him he deliberately turned every dish upside down upon the cloth, and walked out of the place. The following morning he died.

The game of poker is undoubtedly one of the “peculiar institutions”institutions” of the United States and, like base-ball, may be called a “National game.” It finds an abiding place alike among the pineries of the frozen Kennebec and the orange groves of Florida, in the gilded salons of Manhattan Island, the backwoods of Arkansas, and the mining camps of California. It numbers among its devotees men of letters and of the proletariat, the millionaire and the shoe-black, the railway magnate and the tramp. It recognizes no distinction of “age, color, or previous condition of servitude.” It draws not the line at sex, and is equally at home in the fashionable club house and the gambler’s den, the private parlor and the cheap lodging house. Men who avowedly abhor it, play it behind closed doors and drawn curtains, and ladies of culture and high social position are among its most devoted and most skillful patrons. To describe its fascination is as difficult as to account for it, yet the undisputable fact remains that of the vast army of men connected with mercantile pursuits in the United States, comparatively few can be found who have not some knowledge of the game; and were the whole truth disclosed, no insignificant number might reveal a tale of losses of no little magnitude.

Gentlemen, who would not, for worlds, enter a gaming hell, and who are apt to pride themselves upon their ignorance of faro, play poker at their clubs and by their own firesides, without either compunction of conscience or pretence of concealment. Intelligent, thoughtful men, eulogize the game as far removed from vulgarity, as calling into exercise some of the highest faculties of the human mind, and as resulting in healthy, moral effects.

This enthusiastic laudation of the game is all very well, but the naked facts remain, that whatever argument may be advanced against any form of gambling, may be urged with equal force against poker; and that this game sanctioned as it practically is, by the countenance of the reputable men who never set foot within a gaming house, has done more to weaken the moral sense of the country at large as to the general question of gambling than any other single agency. Its growing popularity and increasing prevalence constitute a menace by no means to be ignored to the prosperity, the morals, even the perpetuity of our people. A nation of gamblers is a nation whose course is already turned towards the setting sun.

As in the chapter devoted to the game of faro, the game will be first described as squarely and fairly played, after which the principal tricks of “card sharpers” will be taken up.

Foul Hand.—A hand composed of more, or less than five cards.

Going Better.—When any player makes a bet, it is the privilege of the next player to the left to raise him, that is, after making good the amount already bet by his adversary, to make a still higher bet. In such a case it is usual to say, “I see you, and go (so much) better,” naming the extra sum bet.

Going In.—After making good the ante of the age and the straddles (if any) for the privilege of drawing cards and playing for the pool.

Limit.—A condition made at the beginning of a game, limiting the amount of any single bet or raise.

Making Good.—Depositing in the pool an amount equal to any bet previously made. This is done previous to raising or calling a playing, and is sometimes called seeing a bet.

Original Hand.—The first five cards dealt to any player.

Pat Hand.—An original hand not likely to be improved by drawing, such as a full, straight, or flush.

Pass.—“I pass,” is a term used in Draw Poker, to signify that a player throws up his hand and retires from the game.

Raising a Bet.—The same as going better.

Say.—When it is the turn of any player to declare what he will do, whether he will bet, or pass his hand.

In the fair game, the deal is of no special value and anybody may begin.

The dealer, beginning with the person at his left, throws around five cards to each player, giving one card at a time.

The dealer shuffles and makes up the pack himself, or it may be done by the player at his left, and the player at his right must cut.

To begin the pool, the player next to the dealer on his left, must put up money, which is called an “ante,” and then in succession, each player, passing around to the left, must after looking at his hand determine if he goes in or not; and each player deciding to play for the pool must put in twice the amount of the ante. Those who decline to play throw up their cards, face downward on the table, and per consequence in front of the next dealer.

When all who wish to play have gone in, the person putting up the ante can either give up all interest in the pool, thus forfeiting the ante which has been put up, or else can play like the others who have gone in, by “making good,” that is, putting, up in addition to the ante as much more as will make him equal in the stake to the rest.

The players must throw away their discarded cards before taking up or looking at those which they draw.

In poker, as fairly played, every player is for himself and against all others, and to that end will not let any of his cards be seen, nor betray the value of his hand by drawing or playing out of his turn, or by change of countenance, or any other sign. It is a great object to mystify your adversaries, up to the “call,” when hands have to be shown. To this end it is permitted to “chaff,” or talk nonsense, with a view of misleading your adversaries as to the value of your hand, but this must be without unreasonably delaying the game.

When the drawing is all complete, the betting goes around in order, like the drawing, to the left. The ante man is the first to bet unless he has declined to play, and in that case the first bet is made by the player nearest to the dealer on his left. But the player entitled to bet first may withhold his wager until the others have bet round to him, which is called “holding the age,” and this being considered an advantage, is very frequently done.

Each bettor in turn must put into the pool a sum equal at least to the first bet made; but each may in turn increase the bet, or “raise” it, as it comes to him; in which case the bets proceeding round in order must be made by each player in his turn, equal to the highest amount put in by any one; the party who fails being required to go out of the play, forfeiting his interest in the pool.

When a player puts in only as much as has been put in by each player who preceded him, that is called “seeing the bet.”

WhenWhen a player puts in that much, and raises it, that is called seeing the bet and “going better.”

When the bet goes around to the last bettor, or player, who remains in, if he does not wish to see and go better, he simply sees and “calls,” and then all playing must show their hands, and the highest hand wins the pool.

When any one declines to see the bet, or the increase of bet, which has been made, he “lays down” his hand; that is, throws it up with the cards face downwards on the table. If all the other players throw down their hands, the one who remains in to the last wins, and takes the pool without showing his hand.

To “bluff” is to take the risk of betting high enough on a poor hand or a worthless one, to make all the other players lay down their hands without seeing or calling you.

When a hand is complete so that the holder of it can play without drawing to better it, that is called a “pat” hand. A bold player will sometimes decline to draw any cards, and pretend to have a “pat” hand, and play it as such when he has none.

A skillful player will watch and observe when each player draws, the expression of the face, the circumstances and manner of betting, and judge, or try to judge, of the value of each hand opposed to him accordingly.

No one is bound to answer the question, how many cards he drew, except the dealer; and the dealer is not bound to tell after the betting has begun.

1. A Sequence Flush—Which is a sequence of five cards, and all of the same suit.

2. Fours—Which is four of the five cards of the same denomination.

3. A Full—Which is a hand consisting of three cards of the same denomination and two of likewise equal denomination.

4. A Flush—Which is all five cards of the same suit.

5. A Sequence—Which is all five cards not of the same suit, but all in sequence. [In computing the value of a sequence, an ace counts either as the highest or the lowest card; that is below a deuce or above a king.]

6. Threes—Which is three cards of the same denomination, but the other two of different denominations from each other.

7. Two pairs.

8. One pair.

When a hand has neither of the above the count is by the cards of the highest value or denomination.

When parties opposed each hold a pair, the highest pair wins, and the same when each party holds threes or fours.

When each party holds two pairs, the highest pair of the two determines the relative value of the hands.

When each party holds a sequence, the hand commencing with the highest card in the sequence wins; so, also, when two or more parties hold flushes against each other.

That full counts highest of which the three cards of the same denomination are highest. The two cards of same denomination help only to constitute the full, but do not add to the value of the hand. When hands are equal so far that each party holds a pair, or two pairs, of exactly the same value, the next highest card or cards in each hand must be compared with the highest card or cards in the other hand, to determine which wins.

In case of the highest hands, (which very seldom occurs) being exactly equal, the pool is divided.