A Society for the Reformation of Poker Players Page #2

"A Society for the Reformation of Poker Players," written by Robert Barr, is a humorous and satirical novella that examines the world of poker and its players. Set in the late 19th century, the story follows a group of poker enthusiasts who seek to reform their behavior and attitudes toward the game, reflecting on themes of morality, vice, and societal norms. Through witty dialogue and clever observations, Barr critiques the gambling culture of his time while also exploring the camaraderie and rivalries that emerge within this unique social circle. The novella offers a lighthearted yet insightful glimpse into the complexities of human nature and the allure of chance.

• Humour
• Novel

								

that any young fellow who goes out to America to begin farming, does
not, as a general rule, leave people in England exceedingly well off,
and probably this fact, more than any other, accounted for the remorse
visible on Storm’s countenance. We knew quite well that the offering of
money to him would be a very delicate matter, but it was agreed that
Smith should take this in hand if we saw the offer was necessary. Then
I, as the man who sat at the head of the table, was selected to speak
to young Storm, and, if possible, get him to abandon poker. I knew this
was a somewhat impudent piece of business on my part, and so I took
that evening to determine how best to perform the task set for me. I
resolved to walk the deck with him in the morning, and have a frank
talk over the matter.

When the morning came, I took young Storm’s arm and walked two or three
turns up and down the deck, but all the while I could not get up
courage enough to speak with him in relation to gambling. When he left
me, I again thought over the matter. I concluded to go into the
smoking-room myself, sit down beside him, see him lose some money and
use that fact as a test for my coming discourse on the evils of
gambling. After luncheon I strolled into the smoking-room, and there
sat this dark-faced man with his half-closed eyes opposite young Storm,
while two others made up the four-handed game of poker.

Storm’s face was very pale, and his lips seemed dry, for he moistened
them every now and then as the game went on. He was sitting on the
sofa, and I sat down beside him, paying no heed to the dark gambler’s
look of annoyance. However, the alleged Buffalo man said nothing, for
he was not a person who did much talking. Storm paid no attention to me
as I sat down beside him. The gambler had just dealt. It was very
interesting to see the way he looked at his hand. He allowed merely the
edges of the cards to show over each other, and then closed up his hand
and seemed to know just what he had. When young Storm looked at his
hand he gave a sort of gasp, and for the first time cast his eyes upon
me. I had seen his hand, but did not know whether it was a good one or
not. I imagined it was not very good, because all the cards were of a
low denomination. Threes or fours I think, but four of the cards had a
like number of spots. There was some money in the centre of the table.
Storm pushed a half-crown in front of him, and the next man did the
same. The gambler put down a half-sovereign, and the man at his left,
after a moment’s hesitation, shoved out an equal amount from the pile
of gold in front of him.

Young Storm pushed out a sovereign.

“I’m out,” said the man whose next bet it was, throwing down his cards.

The gambler raised it a sovereign, and the man at his left dropped out.
It now rested between Storm and the gambler. Storm increased the bet a
sovereign. The gambler then put on a five-pound note.

Storm said to me huskily, “Have you any money?”

“Yes,” I answered him.

“Lend me five pounds if you can.”

Now, the object of my being there was to stop gambling, not to
encourage it. I was the president pro tem, of the Society for the
Reformation of Poker Players, yet I dived into my pocket, pulled out my
purse under the table and slipped a five-pound note into his hand. He
put that on the table as if he had just taken it from his own pocket.

“I call you,” he said.

“What have you got?” asked the gambler.

“Four fours,” said Storm, putting down his hand.

The gambler closed up his and threw the cards over to the man who was
to deal. Storm paused a moment and then pulled towards him the money in
the centre of the table and handed me my five-pound note.

When the cards were next dealt, Storm seemed to have rather an ordinary
hand, so apparently had all the rest, and there was not much money in
the pile. But, poor as Storm’s hand was, the rest appeared to be
poorer, and he raked in the cash. This went on for two or three deals,
and finding that, as Storm was winning all the time, although not
heavily, I was not getting an object lesson against gambling, I made a
move to go.

“Stay where you are,” whispered Storm to me, pinching my knee with his
hand so hard that I almost cried out.

Then it came to the gambler’s turn to deal again. All the time he
deftly shuffled the cards he watched the players with that furtive
glance of his from out his half-shut eyes.

Storm’s hand was a remarkable one, after he had drawn two cards, but I
did not know whether it had any special value or not. The other players
drew three cards each, and the gambler took one.

“How much money have you got?” whispered Storm to me.

“I don’t know,” I said, “perhaps a hundred pounds.”

“Be prepared to lend me every penny of it,” he whispered.

I said nothing; but I never knew the president of a society for the
suppression of gambling to be in such a predicament.

Storm bet a sovereign. The player to his left threw down his hand. The
gambler pushed out two sovereigns. The other player went out.

Storm said, “I see your bet, and raise you another sovereign.” The
gambler, without saying a word, shoved forward some more gold.

“Get your money ready,” whispered Storm to I did not quite like his
tone, but I made allowance for the excitement under which he was
evidently labouring.

He threw on a five-pound note. The gambler put down another five-pound
note, and then, as if it were the slightest thing possible, put a
ten-pound note on top of that, which made the side players gasp. Storm
had won sufficient to cover the bet and raise it. After that I had to
feed in to him five-pound notes, keeping count of their number on my
fingers as I did so. The first to begin to hesitate about putting money
forward was the gambler. He shot a glance now and again from under his
eyebrows at the young man opposite. Finally, when my last five-pound
note had been thrown on the pile, the gambler spoke for the first time.

“I call you,” he said.

“Put down another five-pound note,” cried the young man.

“I have called you,” said the gambler.

Henry Storm half rose from his seat in his excitement. “Put down
another five-pound note, if you dare.”

“That isn’t poker,” said the gambler. “I have called you. What have you
got?”

“Put down another five-pound note, and I’ll put a ten-pound note on top
of it.”

“I say that isn’t poker. You have been called. What have you got?”

“I’ll bet you twenty pounds against your five-pound note, if you dare
put it down.”

By this time Storm was standing up, quivering with excitement, his
cards tightly clenched in his hand. The gambler sat opposite him calm
and imperturbable.

“What have you got?” said Storm.

“I called you,” said the gambler, “show your hand.”

“Yes; but when I called you, you asked me what I had, and I told you.
What have you got?”

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