CHAPTER XXIIHOCKLEY IN TROUBLE
Onthe following morning all the boys, with the exception of Hockley, were up bright and early. They wanted to see as much as possible of Ponce, for the professor assured them that the public buildings, the ancient churches, and the parks and public drives were all well worth visiting.
“I don’t want to go out,” said Hockley, when called. “The horseback riding made me stiff. I’d rather rest to-day,” and so, while the others spent a day visiting a score of places, he was left behind to do as he pleased.
The money he had received from his indulgent father had been “burning a hole in his pocket,” to use a common expression. He wanted a chance to have a good time, and as soon as Professor Strong and the others had departed he set out for that purpose.
“I’m going to do as I please after this,” he toldhimself. “And no Captain Sudlip shall get the best of me either.”
Having finished his breakfast Hockley purchased a package of cigarettes and then went to the café for a “bracer.” He thought it quite manly to drink a “bracer,” although he was in no need of the liquor. To show off he paid for the drink out of a twenty dollar bill he possessed and at the same time took good care to show the roll of money he carried.
The foolish boy did not realize that Ponce was at this time filled with fortune hunters of all sorts, men who had drifted in from the States and from other places, all anxious to see if American rule of the island would not give them some chance of bettering their condition. Many of the fortune hunters were hard working and honest, but there was another sort, gamblers and those who lived by their wits. These were the fellows to be met with at the cafés and other drinking resorts.
Not far from where Hockley was standing stood a man of about forty, stout, and dressed in a checked suit of loud pattern. The man boasted of a profusion of heavy jewelry, and from his shirt bosom sparkled an immense “diamond”—of the sortwhich can be purchased in any large city for ten or twenty-five cents. The man wore patent leather boots, and his general appearance showed him to be the sport that he was.
In an easy way he lounged up to Hockley. His eye had noted the youth’s roll of bills and he made up his mind that here was a possible victim. He put his hand in his pocket and drew forth a large dead bug.
“Excuse me,” he said, politely and reached for Hockley’s collar. “It’s a pinching bug, I guess,” and he threw the bug on the floor and crushed it with his foot.
Of course Hockley thanked the stranger for his kindness and then, as the latter was not drinking, asked him to have something. The invitation was promptly accepted, and in return the stranger also treated.
“My name is Brown,” he said. “J. Rutherford Brown, and I am from Montana. I take it you are a newcomer in Ponce.”
“I am,” answered Hockley, and told his name and mentioned the party of which he was a member. “It’s rather slow, traveling around with those other fellows,” he added. “I want to see some sport.”
“Of course,” rejoined J. Rutherford Brown, enthusiastically. “I like a little sport myself.”
More talk followed, and in the end it was agreed that the pair should go on a little trip of their own, down the seashore, to a resort where, according to the man from Montana, a “bang up, good, all around time” could be had. “I’ll show you some real life,” said J. Rutherford Brown. “Nothing like it anywhere.”
They were soon on the way, in a carriage the man from Montana insisted on engaging. The route lay out of Ponce proper and along a seaside drive to where some enterprising American hotel men had erected several buildings, devoted partly to keeping boarders but mostly to gambling.
The man from Montana had brought a flask of liquor with him, and he insisted on treating, so that by the time the resort he had in mind was reached poor Hockley was in anything but a clear state mentally. He felt strangely elated.
“This is all right,” he repeated several times. “You’re a good fellow, Brown, a fine fellow. Glad we met. You’ll lose nothing on me, no, sir. I’ve got money, I have, and I mean to spend it.”
“That’s all right, but I insist on paying my ownway,” answered J. Rutherford Brown, smoothly. “I’ve got money myself.”
Once at the resort it was an easy matter for the sharper to get Hockley into a side room, where the pair were free from observation. In pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, the man from Montana let fall a pack of cards.
“Hullo, you play cards?” asked Hockley. “But of course you do. So do I. Let’s have a game.”
J. Rutherford Brown was willing, indeed, he was going to suggest a game himself, and having ordered more liquor, and also a fine dinner, they sat down. At first they played for fun. But then the man from Montana spoke of a game in which he had won five dollars, and poor, deluded Hockley at once insisted they put up something. Thus the betting started, at a dollar, and the youth was allowed to win twenty times that sum.
“Told you I could do it,” said Hockley. “But you shall have a chance to win it back directly after dinner.” And after the meal the game began again, and lasted the best part of two hours.
It is not my intention in these pages to describe the manner in which Hockley was fleeced out of his money, nearly a hundred and seventy-five dollars alltold. Let me say flatly that I do not approve of gambling in any form, and the person who gambles and loses his money deserves no sympathy. It is a poor way in which to waste valuable time, and money won at gambling rarely does the winner any good. It is generally a case of “easy come and easy go,” and with the coming and going the player loses a self-respect which is hard to regain.
When the last game was played Hockley sat back in a dazed, blank way. He had lost it all—every dollar had passed into the hands of J. Rutherford Brown. And not only his money but also his watch and his ring, those precious gifts from his father and his mother. At first he could not realize it.
“Gone!” he muttered hoarsely, and there was almost a sob in his voice.
“Better luck next time,” returned the man from Montana, cheerfully. And then he shoved a glass of liquor at the foolish youth, who clutched and drank it eagerly, in the hope of regaining his “nerve.”
What happened immediately after that Hockley could scarcely tell with certainty. He remembered being helped into a carriage, and of taking a long drive, and then all became a blank.
When he came to his senses he sat up in a dazed fashion. He knew nothing but that his head ached as if it was going to split open and that his mouth felt parched to the last degree.
“Where am I?” he muttered and stared around him. On all sides were boxes and barrels, and he had been lying on some of these, with some old bagging for a pillow. Gradually it dawned upon him that this was a warehouse and that the rising sun was shining in at several of the long, slatted windows. A strong smell of tobacco pervaded the place.
“A tobacco warehouse,” he murmured, slowly. “Now how did I come here and what makes my head ache so?” He tried to collect his thoughts. “I went out riding with that stranger and we had a big dinner together, and then we played cards——”
He stopped short and felt into his pockets. They were empty. Then he clutched his watch pocket and felt of his finger upon which the ring had rested. The full realization of what had occurred now burst upon him, and his breath grew short while heavy beads of perspiration stood out on his brow.
“Cleaned out!” he muttered. “Cleaned out, just as I was cleaned out by Dan Market! Oh, what afool I’ve been!” And tears of rage filled his eyes, while he pounded his fist on the top of a barrel. Then he leaped up and shook the fist in the air.
“But he shan’t get the best of me! I’ll make him square up if I have to go to the police and tell everybody! He shan’t get the best of me!”
His hat had rolled to the floor, and putting it on he hurried to the warehouse door, which was unlocked. Beyond was a dock extending to the waterfront and close at hand was a road leading to the city, four miles away. A cart was passing and he hailed the driver. By signs and a few words of broken Spanish he let the cart driver know he wanted to get to Ponce as soon as possible and the native made room for him on the rough seat.
The drive in the early morning air did Hockley good, and by the time the cart rattled along on the uneven pavements of the city the lank youth felt somewhat like himself. At a public fountain he left the native and got a drink. Possibly the native expected pay for his service, but if so he was disappointed, and he drove on looking as if such were his feeling.
Now that he felt a little better Hockley sat downin one of the city parks to review the situation. It was all well enough to go after J. Rutherford Brown and have him arrested, but what would Professor Strong say to the whole proceedings?
“Hang the professor!” he exclaimed, and gave the park bench a savage kick with his foot. “I’m going to have satisfaction. I’m going to catch that fellow and make him give up my money and things if I die for it!”
Leaving the park he espied an American, and from this man received directions which speedily took him to the café where he had first met J. Rutherford Brown. Going inside, he asked for the man.
“Haven’t seen him this morning,” replied the keeper of the resort.
“Do you know where he lives?” went on Hockley. “It’s a matter of importance to him,” he went on, shrewdly.
“He has a room at the Snug Corner, I believe.”
“Where is that?”
“Three squares up the street, on the corner.”
Waiting to hear no more, Hockley strode out andup the street in the direction indicated. It was now ten o’clock, and he had had no breakfast, but just then he had no thought of eating.
Walking into the corridor of the hotel he glanced around. Only a few people were present. Then he glanced into the smoking and reading room.
His heart gave a bound. J. Rutherford Brown was there, smoking contentedly. He had his feet cocked up on a table and was reading a newspaper.
Going up to the man from Montana, Hockley tore the newspaper from his grasp.
“You villain, you!” he cried, wrathfully. “You swindled me!”