Читать книгу Collected Prose - Paterson Andrew Barton - Страница 10

Table of Contents

The sporting men of Mulligan's were an exceedingly knowing lot: in fact, they had obtained the name amongst their neighbours of being a little bit too knowing. They had "taken down" the sporting men of the adjoining town in a variety of ways. They were always winning maiden plates with horses which were shrewdly suspected to be old and well-tried performers in disguise. When the sports of Paddy's Flat unearthed a phenomenal runner in the shape of a blackfellow called Frying-Pan Joe, the Mulligan contingent immediately took the trouble to discover a blackfellow of their own, and they made a match and won all the Paddy's Flat money with ridiculous ease; then their blackfellow turned out to be a well-known Sydney performer. They had a man who could fight, a man who could be backed to jump five feet ten, a man who could kill eight pigeons out of nine at thirty yards, a man who could make a break of fifty or so at billiards if he tried; they could all drink, and they all had that indefinite look of infinite wisdom and conscious superiority which belongs only to those who know something about horseflesh. They knew a great many things which they never learnt at a Sunday school; at cards and such things they were perfect adepts; they would go to immense trouble to work off a small swindle in a sporting line, and the general consensus of opinion was that they were a very "fly" crowd at Mulligan's, and if you went there you wanted to "keep your eyes skinned" or they'd "have" you over a threepenny bit.

There were races at Sydney one Christmas, and a chosen and select band of the Mulligan sportsmen were going down to them. They were in high feather, having just won a lot of money from a young Englishman at pigeon shooting, by the simple yet ingenious method of slipping blank cartridges into his gun when he wasn't looking, and then backing the bird; also they knew several dead certainties for the races. They intended to make a fortune out of the Sydney people before they came back, and their admirers who came to see them off only asked them as a favour to leave money enough among the Sydney crowd to make it worth while for another detachment to go down later on. Just as the train was departing a priest came running on to the platform, and was bundled by the porters into the carriage where our Mulligan friends were, the door was slammed to, and away they went. His Reverence was hot and perspiring, and for a few minutes he mopped himself with a handkerchief, while the silence was unbroken except by the rattle of the train.

After a while one of the Mulligan fraternity got out a pack of cards and proposed a game to while away the time. There was a young squatter in the carriage who looked as if he might be induced to lose a few pounds, and the sportsmen thought they would be neglecting their opportunities if they did not try and "get a bit to go on with" from him. He agreed to play, and just as a matter of courtesy, they asked the priest whether he would take a hand. "What game d'ye play?" he asked, in a melodious brogue. They explained that any game was equally acceptable to them, but they thought it right to add that they generally played for money. "Shure an' it don't matter for wanst in a way," sez he--"Oi'll take a hand bedad--I'm only going about fifty miles, so I can't lose a fortune." Then they lifted a light port-manteau onto their knees to make a table, and five of them--three of the Mulligan's crowd and the two strangers--started to have a little game of poker. Things looked rosy for the Mulligan's boys and they chuckled as they thought how soon they were making a beginning, and what a magnificent yarn they would have to tell about how they rooked the priest on the way down.

Nothing very sensational resulted from the first few deals, and the priest began to ask questions of the others. "Be ye going to the races?" he enquired. They said that they were. "Ah! and I suppose ye'll be betting with these bookmakers--bettin' on the horses, will yez! They do be terrible knowing men, these bookmakers, they tell me. I wouldn't bet much if I was ye," he said, with an affable smile. "If ye go bettin' ye will be took in with these bookmakers." The boys from Mulligan's listened with a bored air and reckoned that by the time they parted the priest would have learnt that they were well able to look after them-selves. They went steadily on with the game, and the priest and the young squatter won slightly; this was part of the plan to lead them on to the plunge. They neared the station where the priest was to get out. He had won something rather more than they liked, and the signal was passed round to "put the cross on"--i.e., to manipulate the hands so as to get back his winnings and let him go. Poker is a game at which a man need not risk much unless he feels inclined, and on this deal the priest chose not to risk anything and stood out; consequently when they drew up at the station he still had a few pounds of their money. He half rose and then he said: "Bedad, and I don't like going away with yer money. Oi'll go on to the next station so as ye can have revinge." Then he sat down again, and the play went on in earnest.

The man of religion seemed to have the Devil's own luck. When he was dealt a good hand he invariably backed it well, and if he had a bad one he would not risk anything. The sports grew painfully anxious as they saw him getting further and further ahead of them, prattling away and joking all the time like a big schoolboy. The squatter was the biggest loser so far as they had got, but the priest was the only winner. All the others were out of pocket. His Reverence played with great dash, and seemed to know a lot about the game; and when they arrived at the second station he was in pocket a good round sum. He rose to leave them, with many expressions of regret at having robbed them of their money, and laughingly promising full revenge next time. Just as he was opening the door of the carriage, one of the Mulligan's fraternity said in a stage whisper, "I thought that was how it would be. He's a sinkpocket, and won't give us our revenge now. If he can come this far, let him come on to Sydney and play for double the stakes." The priest heard the remark and turned quickly round. "Bedad, an' if that's yer talk, Oi'll go on wid yez and play ye fer double stakes from here to the other side of glory. Play on, now! Do yez think men are mice because they eat cheese? It isn't one of the Ryans would be fearing to give any man his revenge!" He snorted defiance at them, grabbed his cards and waded in. The others felt that a crisis was at hand and settled down to play in a dead silence. The priest kept on winning steadily. The gamblers saw that something decisive must be done, and the leader of the party, the "old man"--"The Daddy," as they put it--decided to make a big plunge and get all the money back on one hand. By a dexterous manipulation of the cards, which luckily was undetected, he dealt himself four kings, almost the best hand at poker. Then he began with assumed hesitation to bet on his hand; he kept raising the stake little by little until the priest exclaimed, "Sure yez are trying to bluff, so ye are!" and immediately started raising it on his part. The others had dropped out of the game and watched with painful interest the stake grow and grow. The Mulligan fraternity felt a cheerful certainty that the "old man" had made everything secure, and they looked upon themselves as mercifully delivered from a very unpleasant situation. The priest went on doggedly raising the stake in response to his antagonist's chal-lenges until it had attained huge dimensions. Then he said, "Sure, that's high enough," and he put into the pool sufficient to entitle him to see his opponent's hand. The "old man" with great gravity laid down his four kings; the Mulligan boys let a big sigh of relief escape them; they were saved--he surely couldn't beat four kings. Then the priest laid down four aces and scooped the pool.

The sportsmen of Mulligan's never quite knew how they got out to Randwick to the races. They borrowed a bit of money in Sydney and found themselves in the saddling paddock in a half-dazed condition trying to realise what had happened to them. During the afternoon they were up at the end of the lawn near the Leger stand, and from that enclosure they could hear the babel of tongues, the small bookmakers, pea-and-thimble men, confidence men, plying their trades. In the tumult of voices they heard one which seemed familiar. After a while suspicion became certainty, and they knew that it was the voice of Father Ryan, who had cleaned them out. They walked to the fence and looked over. They could hear his voice distinctly, and this is what he was saying, "Pop it down, gents! Pop it down! If you don't put down a brick you can't pick up a castle! I'll bet no one here can find the knave of hearts out of these three cards. I'll bet half-a-sovereign no one here can find the knave!" Then the crowd parted a little, and through the opening they could see him distinctly--a three-card man--doing a great business and showing wonderful dexterity with the pasteboard.

This was the downfall of Mulligan's. There is still enough money in Sydney to make it worthwhile for another detachment of knowing sportsmen to come down from that city; but the next lot will hesitate about playing cards with strangers in the train.

The Bulletin, 28 February 1891