Читать книгу Under the Tiger's Claws; Or, A Struggle for the Right онлайн

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Back of the table sat the dealer, who played his luck against all opponents. His duties were arduous. He sold the stacks of ivory chips, handled all the money, shuffled and dealt the cards from the silver deal box before him, and took or paid all bets. He seldom spoke unless addressed. His brain was active, his eyes alert, his hands busy; but his face, whether he won or lost, evinced no emotion.

In a chair to his right, and somewhat above the table, sat the lookout. His duty was to see that the dealer made no mistakes. The lookout thus protects the house. The players have no protection. They who “buck the tiger” must look out for themselves.

At one end of the table sat the cuekeeper. In front of him on the table lay the cue-rack, a small wooden frame, pierced with wires, on which movable buttons indicate the cards already dealt and those still remaining in the deal box.

The cuekeeper in a faro-bank is every man’s menial. The losers curse him; the winners sometimes tip him. The cuekeeper in this place was a humpback, named John Green. He more frequently was called Humpty. All cuekeepers are malformations; the longer they live, the worse they become.