Queer Luck: Poker Stories from the New York SunCurtis, David A.
General
Queer Luck: Poker Stories from the New York Sun
Curtis, David A.
Poker -- Fiction; Poker players -- Fiction; Short stories, American
“In fact, he won at everything he touched while he was here, but as a
matter of course he soon became known, as a first-class crook is sure
to, and he was obliged after a while to seek new pastures. So it came
that the man who came and had fun with the New York sports for a season
drifted away again without exciting any regrets by his departure.”
His Last Sunday Game
_HE WAS BETTING ON A JACK-POT WHEN THE YACHT UPSET_
“The closest call I ever had,” said the gray-haired young-looking man,
“was in a game of poker, and, curiously enough, nobody called in that
particular deal in which it occurred. In fact, nobody thought about it
after the interruption until it was too late for a showdown and the
chips had all disappeared, nobody knew where. It takes a pretty serious
happening to destroy all interest in a game of poker just at the moment
when somebody has raised the limit in a big jack-pot and each player is
confident of winning. But this was a serious happening. It was about
the most serious that I ever knew, and came near being a tragedy.
“Perhaps you remember one summer about ten years ago when a succession
of tremendous squalls struck the south side of Long Island on four
successive Sundays. I think it was just ten years ago.
“We had a club-house, eight or ten of us, that summer, which was
located on Hicks’s Beach, on the extreme western end of the Great
South Bay, not far from the Long Beach Hotel. It was about as
unpretentious as any club-house need be, being only a shanty, but
it was weather-proof, and with cots and hammocks we made ourselves
thoroughly comfortable when we slept ashore. More often we would sleep
on board the little sloop yacht that we had chartered for the summer,
for we used to cruise through the entire day, using the club-house as
a rendezvous. It was one of the jolliest and most economical seasons I
ever enjoyed.
“We all knew something about sailing--I least of all--but the
Commodore, as we all called him, was the best amateur sailor I ever
knew, so, naturally, we made him skipper, and nobody else assumed or
felt any responsibility when he was aboard.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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