Like all of his class, he knew many "certainties,"
and he offered, with engaging frankness, to put me in the way of
"gittin' a bit." The racing blackguard never talks of money; indeed, his
obliquity of mind prevents him from calling anything by its right name.
For him the world is divided between those who "have got it"--_it_ being
money--and those who mean to "get a bit" by any means, fair or foul. On
that day, long ago, this creature fancied that I had some money, and he
was determined, to rob me somehow. I let him imagine that he was
leading me on, for there is no luxury that I enjoy more than watching a
low, cunning rogue when he thinks he is arranging a successful swindle.
I was introduced to a thoroughly safe man. The safe man's face was
almost as villanous as that of my mentor, and his manners were, perhaps,
a little more offensive. Our first bet closed all transactions between
us; as I fully expected, I obtained a ridiculously liberal price, and I
_won_. On my proposing a settlement, the capitalist glared virtuously
and yelled with passion--which was also what I expected.
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