“‘Keep that little roll for me， Mr. Peters，’ says he， ‘andoblige. I’ll ask you fer it when I want it. I guess I knowwhen I’m among friends. A man that’s done business onBeekman street for twenty years， right in the heart ofthe wisest old village on earth， ought to know what he’sabout. I guess I can tell a gentleman from a con man or aflimflammer when I meet him. I’ve got some odd changein my clothes—enough to start the game with， I guess.’
“He goes through his pockets and rains 20 goldcertificates on the table till it looked like a 10，000 ‘AutumnDay in a Lemon Grove’ picture by Turner in the salons.
Andy almost smiled.
“The first round that was dealt， this boulevardier slapsdown his hand， claims low and jack and big casino andrakes in the pot.
“Andy always took a pride in his poker playing. He gotup from the table and looked sadly out of the window atthe street cars.
“‘Well， gentlemen，’ says the cigar man， ‘I don’t blameyou for not wanting to play. I’ve forgotten the fine pointsof the game， I guess， it’s been so long since I indulged.
Now， how long are you gentlemen going to be in the city？’
“I told him about a week longer. He says that’ll suithim fine. His cousin is coming over from Brooklyn thatevening and they are going to see the sights of New York.
His cousin， he says， is in the artificial limb and lead casketbusiness， and hasn’t crossed the bridge in eight years. Theyexpect to have the time of their lives， and he winds up byasking me to keep his roll of money for him till next day.
I tried to make him take it， but it only insulted him tomention it.
“‘I’ll use what I’ve got in loose change，’ says he. ‘Youkeep the rest for me. I’ll drop in on you and Mr. Tuckerto-morrow afternoon about 6 or 7，’ says he， ‘and we’ll havedinner together. Be good.’
“After Whiskers had gone Andy looked at me curiousand doubtful.
“‘Well， Jeff，’ says he， ‘it looks like the ravens are tryingto feed us two Elijahs so hard that if we turned ’em downagain we ought to have the Audubon Society after us.
It won’t do to put the crown aside too often. I knowthis is something like paternalism， but don’t you thinkOpportunity has skinned its knuckles about enoughknocking at our door？’
“I put my feet up on the table and my hands in mypockets， which is an attitude unfavorable to frivolousthoughts.
“‘Andy，’ says I， ‘this man with the hirsute whiskers hasgot us in a predicament. We can’t move hand or foot withhis money. You and me have got a gentleman’s agreementwith Fortune that we can’t break. We’ve done businessin the West where it’s more of a fair game. Out there thepeople we skin are trying to skin us， even the farmers andthe remittance men that the magazines send out to writeup Goldfields. But there’s little sport in New York city forrod， reel or gun. They hunt here with either one of twothings—a slungshot or a letter of introduction. The townhas been stocked so full of carp that the game fish are allgone. If you spread a net here， do you catch legitimatesuckers in it， such as the Lord intended to be caught—fresh guys who know it all， sports with a little coin and thenerve to play another man’s game， street crowds out forthe fun of dropping a dollar or two and village smartieswho know just where the little pea is？ No， sir，’ says I.
‘What the grafters live on here is widows and orphans，and foreigners who save up a bag of money and hand itout over the first counter they see with an iron railingto it， and factory girls and little shopkeepers that neverleave the block they do business on. That’s what they callsuckers here. They’re nothing but canned sardines， and allthe bait you need to catch ’em is a pocketknife and a sodacracker.
“‘Now， this cigar man，’ I went on， ‘is one of the types.
