You grimly studied the cash in front of Mr. Barrymore and watched Maurice take his second place winnings and hold them your way. It wasn't just your friends waiting on your decision, these two smiling sharps, knew who was going to make the call. An excuse eluded you.
Mr. Barrymore eyed you comically with an exaggerated adjustment to his monocle, "What's it going to be then? Hey? Am I looking at a yellow streak running down the backs of New Orleans elite? Are these stakes too high for this poor little rich group? You know one time I played cards on a zeppelin trip in New Jersey. The game got so intense that when the balloon landed we continued on at the airfield after everybody else had disembarked. I lost every red cent to my name that day from a couple of officers in the Navy. But you know who was the luckiest fella in the tri-state area, Me. I missed my connecting flight on a little known dirigible called the Hindenburg..."
The crowd got drawn into his story, Maurice walked over and got some chips, as Mr. Barrymore continued, "so it was not two seconds after I lost my last hand, chasing some sort of empty straight when that thing blew, I spent some time in the Great War and I never felt an explosion that big. An older gentleman's teeth were blown clear out of his mouth, across the cards and into the forehead of one of those Army boys... Navy... Navy boys, and they bit in and stuck. So the airfield is still shaking from the blast, and I looking at a first lieutenant with wood teeth hanging from his eyebrows..."
Even you fell into the stories, as Maurice casually cashiered the chips and people dug into the wallets to play. The question was no longer on the table, there would be a cash game and everybody was playing, and Mr. Barrymore held court even longer... "But it was then, on that very infamous day, and god bless those poor victims, and that leftenant with the teeth in his head, that I told myself, gentlemen, I told myself, I would never miss the opportunity to play cards if the game was good and the company like yourselves is even better. Now, let's us play lest a Zeppelin fall on our heads too. Seize the day gentleman"
The game started feebly as people felt each other out, and kept a watchful eye on Mr. Barrymore and Maurice. Finally, Judges Broussard, a burly, cantankerous old goat, got dealt a big hand and bet into Mr. Barrymore. Mr. Barrymore made a couple of crying calls and then lost the big pot. Mr. Barrymore showed his hand a busted inside straight draw. The judge sniffed in disdain and Mr. Barrymore's play.
Maurice started to win a succession of small pots, and you thought to yourself how you noticed in the tournaments he seemed to pick up all the free money, and he was even better at this in the cash game. Mr. Barrymore chided him for never being able to take down a large pot. Maurice responded, "I'm not losing them either. The way you are going it's going to take a Zeppelin crash for you to get out of here with anything but the lint in your pockets. Streetcar is going to turn you down."
As play continued their banter, turned to bickering, and they seemed genuinely at odds with one another. Maurice half-stood after one bad beat put the bulk of his chips in front of Mr. Barrymore and Maurice sneered at his friend with a derisive "You like a dog chasing it's own tail. One day you are going to catch it and not have a tail, that's what." As play settled down, and Maurice sulked over his lost chips and snidely criticized Mr. Barrymore, Mr. Barrymore barely noticed as he too busy manning a bottle of scotch and filling every one's glasses with generous helpings.
The chips were definitely going his way, and if not for another, long tall story, of him being on a Transcontinental Railroad Car in the Rockies somewhere playing an impromptu game with an Indian Chief, your game might have lost some players. As it was, the story had ample twists and turns, with Mr. Barrymore losing a deed to an oil-well to the Indian Chief, that he had only won the day before off a Texan in Kansas City. But as the Chief couldn't read English, he gave him a page from a Sears-Roebuck catalog, which ironically was the shipping instructions for glass beads. He laughed, and so did the others, and though you tippled a scotch or two, you were alert enough to watch the money empty onto Mr. Barrymore's stack.
As another hour passed, more of the same continued, but more of the players were realizing this raconteur was in fact fleecing them and the mood turned a little somber. Now instead of an infectious laugh, Mr. Barrymore's bellows were politely chuckled at but never joined. Finally, it was Maurice, who had managed to get back to even that broke up the guffaws from Mr. Barrymore's story telling, "Well, well, now, now, it seems the hour is late and this watch," Maurice tapped his grimy timepiece twice, "is telling me," he put an ear to it like a silent movie star, "yes, it's telling me the journey is long and it's best I best skedaddle now, Mr. Barrymore should we be on our way?"
Mr. Barrymore jerked quickly around, sloshing the glass of scotch in one hand and his bowler comically falling over his eyes again. This time there was no saving grace. His other hand with his cards still wedge between two stubby fingers fixed the bowler and flashed just for a moment his hole cards to half the table: it looked clearly like 8 of hearts, 8 of diamonds.
"Listen here Maurice, you trouble me to play in this game, a fine game it is, populated by this Crescent City's finest, and in the middle of this my best hand in hours tell me your watch is talking to you. Poppycock! We finish this hand," Mr. Barrymore admonished him.
"After the hand we leave, and leave I shall, whether we are a we or not," said Maurice.
Affecting a whisper, Mr. Barrymore leaned toward his friend, "And leave a winner shall I because I got that dumb judge over there on the hook. Watch and learn."
The "dumb" Judge Broussard heard every word and turned beet red. Before giving Barrymore a piece of his mind he stole a glance at his hole cards and reigned in his composure.
Mr. Barrymore whipped back to face the table and spilt his entire scotch on his neighbor. Flustered, and fixing his bowler again, he put down his scotch dabbed at his neighbors groin with the table cloth. Dr. Fenman jumped up in anger. Mr. Barrymore begged forgiveness but his welcome had been worn out. No longer were your tablemates imploring you to make a decision with their eyes, now they were demanding it.
Realizing the scotch had worked it's course you responsibly announced, "Gentleman this is the final hand. We'll have tomorrow for more."
The table nodded in agreement. Dr. Fenman agreed, "I should think so."
Mr. Barrymore now suddenly very drunk, "Because of me! I never! If this be the last hand then I raise in the dark! One thousand... dollar bills."
Dr. Fenman still irritated from the spill tsk-ed, "You can't raise in the dark if you've already looked at your hand and unfortunately for you so have w..."
"No, I say allow it," the red-faced Judge Broussard interjected.
"But... we... Ah.... O.k." Dr. Fenman got it. In fact the entire table had gotten it, now drunk and seeing their money stacked neatly in front of Mr. Barrymore, his act was tiresome, they wanted him to lose and for the judge to get his dignity back. Broussard must have had a pair of 8s beat badly.
Your moral compass asunder, now you watched as the men you worried were going to get cheated were about to cheat the stranger. Despite your loyalties you could not let it happen, "Mr. Barrymore, I must say..."
He spun on you with an evil glint in his eye, "Are you in the hand?"
"No, I folded..."
"Then you must say nothing! The only one who must say anything is the judge... You call my thousand judge?"
"I don't, I raise you one more," the judge said.
"I'm sorry, I must tell you when you spilt your drink you exposed your cards," you spit out to Mr. Barrymore despite the venom your first attempt received.
"I don't care what you think you saw! I call that raise. Flop 'em dealer," Barrymore stared intently at the board. Out came an Ace of hearts, a Jack of diamonds, and a 10 of diamonds.
"I guess, I bet a thousand more," said Barrymore.
"I see that!" the judge retorted.
A seven of diamonds fell on the turn. Another 1000 was bet and called. A jack of hearts hit the river.
"My last 1000 dear judge," Mr. Barrymore pushed into the pot, "if not for this being a table stakes game I'd bet the other 5 in my pocket."
"I'll honor said bet if you want to make it!" The judge said defiantly.
"I do!" Barrymore whipped out a wad of cash. "Where's yours?"
"Do you know who I am?"
"Yes, I do, but if my money's on the table for you to honor it, I need $5000 to match it. You only got a few hundred in front of you. Borrow it from your friends," Mr. Barrymore eyed them.
A couple of players pushed a few hundred to the judge and then he looked to Dr. Fenman who had the most chips but was a tight borderline cheap player. He hesitated, "Let me see your cards judge and I'll think about it."
The judge showed him his pocket cards, and Fenman's eyes nearly shot out of his head, "Yes, yes, take the chips and here's a 1000 more to raise him."
Barrymore looked quickly at Maurice, who out of nowhere pulled out a neat roll of bills, to match the bet.
"It's a call?" The judge flipped over pocket aces for a full house.
Then Barrymore turned over a 89 of diamonds for a straight flush.
The table was aghast.
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