Very High Play

by Barry Pain

VERY HIGH PLAY.

By Barry Pain.

"What I like about poker," said Gorrosmith, "is its pagan quality. It is beautifully barbaric. It awakens the thirst for blood, or its cash equivalent. I would bluff my own grandmother out of her last halfpenny, and walk away pleased and not ashamed."

"So would I," said Barrobrown. "Your principles are my own. I would win my only sister's scalp, and see that she paid it. I am thankful to say that I play the game—merely the game—entirely without mercy."

"But, however," observed Gorrosmith, "as we are both of us far from being rich men, shall we say a penny ante and twopence to come in?"

"Quite so," said Barrobrown, "with a five shilling limit."

"Half-a-crown would be enough," replied Gorrosmith, drawing his chair to the table, "but call it five shillings."

"Jack-pots," said a third man.

"And no joker, of course," remarked a fourth.

"Of course not," said Gorrosmith. "None of those suburban variations for me—the real game, or I don't care about it."

Now there came a time when there was money in the pot, and Gorrosmith opened it for one penny. All came in, Barrobrown remarking hesitatingly that he supposed he must. Gorrosmith took no cards, no more did Barrobrown. Gorrosmith bet one penny, the other men went cut, and Barrobrown raised it five shillings.

"This is a sporting game," remarked Gorrosmith, putting up his eyeglass. "Very well, and five."

"And five again," said Barrobrown.

"And another five," said Gorrosmith.

"And five," said Barrobrown.

"Look here," said Gorrosmith, "I'll keep an account of the bet on a bit of paper, and you can do the same. It's simpler. And five."

"And five," said Barrobrown.

"And five," said Gorrosmith.

This sort of conversation went on for ten minutes. "I'm not altogether sorry that I am out of this," remarked the third man. "It's a bit monotonous," said the other.

"For the sake of variety," said Gorrosmith, "shall we dispense with the limit in this particular emergency?"

"By all means," said Barrobrown.

"I say," said the third man, "hadn't you men better go a bit steady?"

"Possibly," Barrobrown replied; "or, on the other hand, possibly not. One hundred pounds, Gorrosmith."

"Yes, that's quicker. And a thousand."

"A thousand? And a million."

"If you must, you must," observed Gorrosmith, as he lit a cigarette. "And a billion."

"And five billions more," said Barrobrown.

"Look here," said the fourth man, "this is absolutely farcical."

"Think so?" asked Gorrosmith. "So far I have not bet a penny more than I will pay if I lose—if, mark you."

"Neither have I," said Barrobrown. "I have no choice but to play the game, and if I leave Gorrosmith a ruined and dishonoured man, I can't help it."

"In the meantime," observed Gorrosmith, "I will raise you the difference between the sum already betted (which, as I am no mathematician, I will not add up) and the Entire Universe."

"You can't possibly afford it," said the third man, with brutal frankness.

"Hold your tongue," said Gorrosmith, snappishly.

"It's discussions like these," remarked Barrobrown, "that absolutely ruin a game at cards. What business can this be of anybody except Gorrosmith and myself?"

"Oh, very well," said the third man. "If your father likes to pay your gambling debts, it's no concern of nine. I myself never will bet more than I can lose without missing, and I think you are beginning to go beyond that. However, as you say, it's your own affair."

"Barrobrown," said Gorrosmith, with a great and unnatural self-restraint, "would you kindly remember that it's your turn to speak?"

"Certainly. I object to these interruptions as much as you do. You bet the Entire Universe, I think. Very well. I see you, and raise you the Hereafter."

Gorrosmith reflected for a moment. "No," he said, "I don't mean to raise you; it isn't from scruples—it's merely because I can't think of anything else. I see you."

"Best straight flush, diamonds," said Barrobrown.

"Same, spades," said Gorrosmith.

They threw their hands down. Each took back what he had put in the pool, and they divided the rest. It came to three shillings each. "I never saw such cards in my life before," exclaimed the third man. "I've never seen one such hand, and as for two of them turning up together—it's incredible, phenomenal!"

"And," said Gorrosmith, "the betting was also phenomenal. That is poker as it should be—cards and betting in due agreement and harmony, broken only at long intervals by the magnificent discord of some great and inspired bluff. There was no bluffing here. I have bet just the value of my cards, and no more. Perhaps it is almost a pity that Barrobrown did not hold four aces; then he wouldn't have come up so far, of course, but I should have won more. However, I am satisfied."

"And I am not," said Barrobrown. "The betting ought not to have stopped where it did."

"I don't know," remarked Gorrosmith, "if you're trying to imply that I stopped betting because I was afraid, but perhaps you'll tell me what else there was to bet?"

"Nothing—absolutely nothing. That's what I complain of. All's too little. All's too small. Think what the betting might be between two men each holding a certainty—onward and upward in a mad and monstrous progression, each separate bet transcending the wildest imaginings of the drunkard mathematician! I despise time. I have a contempt for space. Language is no good, and splits as soon as you try to make it fit the unusually large. My eyes are looking toward largeness—towards the conditions under which the perfect betting on the perfect cards would be possible. I am filled with the exaltation of its atmosphere, though my eyes cannot penetrate its distance, nor could any speech describe it. Slowly I lose my sense of smaller things: they cease to have meaning. Was it I who betted five billion pounds just now! What paltriness! A despicable number of stupid tinkling tokens, wherewith to try to satisfy a need that takes all infinity!"

"When you've finished," said Gorrosmith. severely, "we may as well get on with the usual game."

"My ante," said the third man. "I say, Barrobrown, lend me another sixpence to be going on with."

"Very well," said Barrobrown, pushing the coin across the table. "But remember that makes eighteenpence you owe me."

(Published by arrangement with The Granta.)