The Tenderfoots by Francis Lynde

AFTER he had rued his bargain with the Jew second-hand man -- paying a stiff forfeit for the privilege -- and had reëstablished himself in his rooms in the Alamo, Philip slipped back into the drifting current which had been only momentarily arrested by the Mona Connaghey episode, turning day into night and night into day, gambling a little, drinking a little, assiduously avoiding the few daylight friends he had made, and adding nightly to a different and more numerous collection, some of whom were grateful for the largesse he scattered, while others regarded him only as a soft-hearted fool to be played upon and cozened out of his money as occasion might offer.

It was at this time that Middleton, the fat-faced railroad clerk, appealed to him for help, and Philip heard the appeal with the tolerant, half-amused smile which aptly mirrored his changed point of view. A younger brother of Middleton's had recently joined the rush to the golden West, and Middleton had secured him a railroad clerkship in the freight station. So far, so good; but almost immediately, it seemed, the boy had been caught in the wide-spreading net of dissipation and was in a fair way to be ruined.

"It is only gambling, for a beginning; but since he is in the cashier's office, handling company money, that is bad enough," Middleton said. "It won't take him very long to find out that his salary won't be a drop in the bucket when it comes to going up against the skin games."

"Well, why don't you take him in hand? " Philip asked, the thin-lipped smile accentuating itself.

Middleton flushed uncomfortably.

"I was expecting you'd say that. But you know how a kid bucks at taking anything from an older brother. Besides, I can't say that I've been setting him any too good an example."

"No; I guess you haven't. But what makes you think I might set him a better one?"

"I don't. Just the same, he'd take a jacking-up from you as coming from a -- er -- a sort of case-hardened rounder, you know. That's what you've got the name of being, now, Philly -- if you don't mind my saying so."

"No, I don't mind. If I come across your brother, I'll try to choke him off."

This conditional promise was made in the afternoon of the second day after he had agreed to the costly compromise with the Jew furniture man; and late in the evening of that day he caught a glimpse of young Jack Middleton, hands buried in pockets and head down, turning a corner and hurrying toward the Corinthian. As Philip chanced to know, it was the railroad pay-day, and it was a fair assumption that the boy had his month's salary in his pocket.

Entering the game room of the Corinthian a few steps behind young Middleton, Philip waited only long enough to see the boy plunge into play with all the crass ignorance and recklessness of a beginner, before he intervened. Standing at the youth's elbow while he was staking and losing five-dollar gold pieces in swift succession at one of the roulette wheels, he said, in a tone audible only to the ear it was intended for: "Whose money is that you're losing, Jackie?"

The boy jumped as if he had been shot. Then he saw who it was who had spoken to him and began to beg:

"You -- you mustn't stop me, Mr. Trask! I've _got_ to win -- I tell you, I've just _got_ to!"

Philip drew him aside.

"Just how bad is it, Jack? " he asked. "I mean, how much are you short in the office?"

"Oh, my God! -- how did you know? " gasped the boy.

"Never mind about that. How much is it?"

"It's -- it's over a hundred dollars."

"Well, don't you know you haven't a dog's chance of getting it back in a place like this?"

"But some of them win," was the desperate plea.