The Face and the Mask by Robert Barr (100 books to read in a lifetime TXT) 📕

to myself."

"Oh, we all know that. You've been going to quit for the last twenty years. Well, I'm going to quit, too, but not just yet. That's what they all say, of course, but I mean it."

In the early and crisp winter air Pony Rowell walked to the Metropolitan Hotel and to bed. At 3 that afternoon the man he had an appointment with, called to see him.

"You wanted to see me about an Insurance policy," the visitor began. An agent is always ready to talk of business. "Now, were you thinking of an endowment scheme or have you looked into our new bond system of insurance? The twenty-pay-life style of thing seems to be very popular."

"I want to ask you a few questions," said Pony. "If I were to insure my life in your company and were to commit suicide would that invalidate the policy?"

"Not after two years. After two years, in our company, the policy is incontestable."

"Two years? That won't do for me. Can't you make it one year?"

"I'll tell you what I will do," said the agent, lowering his voice, "I can ante-date the policy, so that the two years will end just when you like, say a year from now."

"Very well. If you can legally fix it so that the two years come to an end about this date next year I will insure in your company for $100,000."

The agent opened his eyes when the amount was mentioned.

"I don't want endowments or bonds, but the cheapest form of life insurance you have, and----"

"Straight life is what you want."

"Straight life it is, then, and I will pay you for the two years or say, to make it sure, for two years and a half down, when you bring me the papers."

Thus it was that with part of the money he had won, Pony Rowell insured his life for $100,000, and with another part he paid his board and lodging for a year ahead at the Metropolitan Hotel.

The remainder he kept to speculate on.

During the year that followed he steadily refused to play with Bert Ragstock, and once or twice they nearly had a quarrel about it--that is as near as Pony could come to having a row with anybody, for quarrelling was not in his line. If he had lived in a less civilized part of the community Pony might have shot, but as it was quarrels never came to anything, therefore he did not indulge in any.

"A year from the date of our last game? What nonsense it is waiting all that time. You play with others, why not with me? Think of the chances we are losing," complained Bert.

"We will have a game then that will make up for all the waiting," answered Rowell.

At last the anniversary came and when the hour struck that ushered it in Pony Rowell and Bert Ragstock sat facing each other, prepared to resume business on the old stand.

"Ah," said Bert, rubbing his hands, "it feels good to get opposite you once more. Pony, you're a crank. We might have had a hundred games like this during the past year, if there wasn't so much superstition about you."

"Not quite like this. This is to be the last game I play, win or lose. I tell you that now, so that there won't be any talk of revenge if I win."

"You don't mean it! I've heard talk like that before."

"All right. I've warned you. Now I propose that this be a game of pure luck. We get a new pack of cards, shuffle them, cut, then you pull one card and I another. Ace high. The highest takes the pot. Best two out of three. Do you agree?"

"Of course. How much is the pile to be?"

"One hundred thousand dollars."

"Oh, you're dreaming."

"Isn't it enough?"

"Thunder! You never saw $100,000."

"You will get the money if I lose."

"Say, Pony, that's coming it a little strong. One hundred thousand dollars! Heavens and earth! How many business men in this whole city would expect their bare word to be taken for $100,000?"

"I'm not a business man. I'm a gambler."

"True, true. Is the money in sight?"

"No; but you'll be paid. Your money is not in sight. I trust you. Can't you trust me?

"It isn't quite the same thing, Pony. I'll trust you for three times the money you have in sight, but when you talk about $100,000 you are talking of a lot of cash."

"If I can convince Mellish here that you will get your money, will you play?"

"You can convince me just as easily as you can Mellish. What's the use of dragging him in?"

"I could convince you in a minute, but you might still refuse to play. Now I'm bound to play this game and I can't take any risks. If my word and Mellish's isn't good enough for you, why, say so."

"All right," cried Bert. "If you can convince Mellish that you will pay if you lose I'll play you."

Rowell and Mellish retired into an inner room and after a few minutes reappeared again.

Mellish's face was red when he went in. He was now a trifle pale.

"I don't like this, Bert," Mellish said, "and I think this game had better stop right here."

"Then you are not convinced that I am sure of my money?"

"Yes, I am, but----"

"That's enough for me. Get out your new pack."

"You've given your word, Mellish," said Pony, seeing the keeper of the house was about to speak. "Don't say any more."

"For such a sum two out of three is too sudden. Make it five out of nine," put in Bert.

"I'm willing."

The new pack of cards was brought and the wrappings torn off.

"You shuffle first; I'll cut," said Rowell. His lips seemed parched and he moistened them now and then, which was unusual for so cool a gambler. Mellish fidgeted around with lowered brow. Bert shuffled the cards as nonchalantly as if he had merely a $5 bill on the result. When each had taken a card, Bert held an ace and Pony a king. Pony shuffled and the turn up was a spot in Pony's hand and queen in that of his opponent. Bert smiled and drops began to show on Pony's forehead in spite of his efforts at self-control. No word was spoken by either players or onlookers. After the next deal Pony again lost. His imperturbability seemed to be leaving him. He swept the cards from the table with an oath. "Bring another pack," he said hoarsely.

Bert smiled at him across the table. He thought, of course, that they were playing for even stakes.

Mellish couldn't stand it any longer. He retired to one of the inner rooms. The first deal with the new pack turned in Pony's favor and he seemed to feel that his luck had changed, but the next deal went against him and also the one following.

"It's your shuffle," said Rowell, pushing the cards towards his opponent. Bert did not touch the cards, but smiled across at the gambler.

"What's the matter with you? Why don't you shuffle?"

"I don't have to," said Bert, quietly, "I've won five."

Rowell drew his hand across his perspiring brow and stared at the man across the table. Then he seemed to pull himself together.

"So you have," he said, "I hadn't noticed it. Excuse me. I guess I'll go now."

"Sit where you are and let us have a game for something more modest. I don't care about these splurges myself and I don't suppose you do-- now."

"Thanks, no. I told you this was my last game. As to the splurge, if I had the money I would willingly try it again. So long."

When Mellish came in and saw that the game was over he asked where Pony was.

"He knew when he had enough, I guess," answered Bert. "He's gone home."

"Come in here, Bert. I want to speak with you," said Mellish.

When they were alone Mellish turned to him.

"I suppose Pony didn't tell you where the money is to come from?"

"No, he told you. That was enough for me."

"Well, there's no reason why you should not know now. I promised silence till the game was finished. He's insured his life for $100,000 and is going to commit suicide so that you may be paid."

"My God!" cried Bert, aghast. "Why did you let the game go on?"

"I tried to stop it, but I had given my word and you----"

"Well, don't let us stand chattering here. He's at the Metropolitan, isn't he? Then come along. Hurry into your coat."

Mellish knew the number of Rowell's room and so no time was lost in the hotel office with inquiries. He tried the door, but, as he expected, it was locked.

"Who's that?" cried a voice within.

"It's me--Mellish. I want to speak with you a moment."

"I don't want to see you."

"Bert wants to say something. It's important. Let us in."

"I won't let you in. Go away and don't make a fuss. It will do no good. You can get in ten minutes from now."

"Look here, Pony, you open that door at once, or I'll kick it in. You hear me? I want to see you a minute, and then you can do what you like," said Bert, in a voice that meant business.

After a moment's hesitation Rowell opened the door and the two stepped in. Half of the carpet had been taken up and the bare floor was covered with old newspapers. A revolver lay on the table, also writing materials and a half-finished letter. Pony was in his shirt sleeves and he did not seem pleased at the interruption.

"What do you want?" he asked shortly.

"Look here, Pony," said Bert, "I have confessed to Mellish and I've come to confess to you. I want you to be easy with me and hush the thing up. I cheated. I stocked the cards."

"You're a liar," said Rowell, looking him straight in the eye.

"Don't say that again," cried Ragstock, with his fingers twitching. "There's mighty few men I would take that from."

"You stocked the cards on me? I'd like to see the man that could do it!"

"You were excited and didn't notice it."

"You're not only a liar, but you're an awkward liar. I have lost the money and I'll pay it. It would have been ready for you now, only I had a letter to write. Mellish has told you about the insurance policy and my will attached to it. Here they are. They're yours. I'm no kicker. I know when a game's played fair."

Bert took the policy and evidently intended to tear it in pieces, while Mellish, with a wink at him, edged around to get at the revolver. Ragstock's eye caught the name in big letters at the head of the policy, beautifully engraved. His eyes opened wide, then he sank into a chair and roared with laughter. Both the other men looked at him in astonishment.

"What's the matter?" asked Mellish.

"Matter? Why, this would have been a joke on Pony. It would do both of you some good to know a