# The Good Loser Wins

Young and sole heir to a gambling-house, Alexina Grimshaw sets out to find a man, using methods that even in California in the '50s are unique and her own.
Author of “Law and Order,” “Evidence,” etc.
THIS is the story of how Alexina Grimshaw got the husband she wanted, when, even after the marriage, she despaired of having him—that is, of having him whom she wanted.
Grimshaw, her late husband, had killed three men, been through many rough and tumble shootings where men draw without warning and die without time for so much as a whispered prayer; but in the Fall of '50 in San Francisco he cashed in. Dysentery' took him. As Alexina was pretty, young and sole heir of the gambling-house, there was much blackening of boots and clipping of beards. The price of “biled” shirts became as high as that of crowbars. Twenty dollars each.
Alexina had married at eighteen and was widowed, at twenty-three. She was a natural born mimic and for her own personal amusement had learned to deal crooked faro; otherwise she was just a helpless, pretty, blonde, demure, baby-faced girl-wife. Grimshaw had been an intelligent man, a gambler and gentleman unafraid. When he knew that he was dying, he took her hand and spoke words of wisdom:
“Wear black for a while; then get another husband, little girl. Don't mind me. Be sure to pick a good loser; better still if you can get a good winner. Get a man that plays a square game—no matter if he does eat peas with a knife. A girl like you needs a husband. Bliss me now—I feel the devil tugging at my toes.”
She had kissed him and cried. And, when he was buried, she felt that she had lost a father.
In due course of time she came to feel that she would marry Perris Farthingham or Chuck Lewis or Jack Rickard. Farthingham was a gentleman and invested in mines that other people discovered; Lewis was big and burly and brave as a catamount—a hungry catamount, that is—and owned real estate; Rickard was slender, young, quiet, impassive and a gambler. The handsomest man of the three was probably Farthingham: tall, broad-shouldered, polite. And people said that he was English.
Alexina, so it was reported, knew nothing of men. She was doll-faced and possessed innocent, trusting eyes. People took the face and eyes at their apparent unsophistication. Alexina had great respect for the memory and advice of her late husband.
“Be sure,” Grimshaw had said, “to pick a good loser.”
So Alexina got out a little ivory box with which she had idled away many hours. It was a deal box for faro, and it was crooked. She invited the three men for a private game—and she trimmed them. Farthingham smiled as he threw his last dollar down. Chuck Lewis joked as he scraped the bottom of his long sack. Jack Rickard did not change a line in his face as he pushed back his chair and said quietly——
“That finishes me.”
And Alexina was no nearer to a decision than ever.
The next day she sent for them one by one and, privately returning to each his losses, said that for the fun of the thing she had dealt from a crooked box and, of course, couldn't keep the money. She hoped he wouldn't hold it against her. And he mustn't think such cheating was tolerated in the house—remember, she fell heir to Grimshaw's gambling-place—itself.
Farthingham protested that no one would dare think of such a thing—as that the house was not straight. And as for the trimming she had given him—well, he thought it was a good bit of fun, and he didn't mind losing as much as she seemed to think, since she was returning the money. He thanked her in such a charming, polite way for the refund that she was sure she could make no mistake in giving her hand to him.
Then Chuck Lewis came, and he laughed heartily. He pointed out merrily that he couldn't take back all the money because there was the banker's percentage to be considered. Lewis' good nature and scrupulous honesty made a very favorable impression upon her.
In his turn Jack Rickard was told what she had told the others. He smiled and, with a slight, emphatic gesture, indicated his refusal to accept the money. A flush of anger swept over Alexina.
But Rickard said simply:
“Mrs. Grimshaw, I am not a child. If I had won, I wouldn't have returned your money. It is my business to know whether or not the dealer is straight—so I have no claim to this.”
“You knew the box was crooked?” she asked quickly. “And you let me break you, anyway?”
“Certainly not,” said Rickard.
But she was not sure.
When he left, she found herself wondering more about him than about the others. If he had known the box was crooked and had been too gallant to give any indication of that knowledge—then he was a finer man than she suspected. Suddenly she remembered that he was a professional gambler, and probably her amateurish skill, sufficient to deceive most people, had not deceived him. Or maybe Rickard had refused the money merely to impress her. Maybe he had known just how to hint that he had been aware that she dealt a crooked game. It was hard to decide.
She was firm in her intention to find something definite and distinguishing that would give her assurance that one of those three men was more gallant, more deeply honest than the others. She wanted to be relieved of all doubt. Besides, she found herself beginning to prefer one of them, and, as she wished to be absolutely impartial, this did not seem quite honest. She would test them all alike.
AT LAST she hit on a plan. It was dangerous. It might lead to killing, and, perforce, she would be left with the quickest on the trigger as the only candidate for her hand. In which case, however, she could refuse him after all. The plans of women, particularly of the doll-faced women, are ruthless. They try the souls of men, and are forsooth called heartless because, with an impenetrable finesse, they are only being very careful.
A fancy mask-ball was given. Twelve months later the wife and daughter of Col. Sutherland would not have attended a ball given by a gambler's widow; nor would any other of the “better” citizens and their wives. San Francisco developed rapidly, but for a short period there was no perceptible social demarcation. If women were not utter outcasts, they belonged to the best society. And Alexina's ball was a big event socially.
There were two orchestras, a hundred-foot bar and a bright mass of glassware shimmering in the mirror. Overhead hung scores of American flags, all sizes, and a hundred lamps and lanterns burned amid the rafters, from which tinsel and colored paper was festooned. Ships that rounded the Horn carried all manner of luxuries and oddities in their holds—so that everything, anything except necessities, could be had in plenty. There might be a shortage in mining tools, but never in gaudy stuffs and women's silks.
A ticket-taker stood at the door—for this was an invitation dance—and by him stood two policemen. No one thought it odd or impertinent for these policemen to relieve all who came of their weapons and to give a check by which they could be later reclaimed. Such precaution was acceptable to all. Balls had a way of breaking up in a manner that brought confusion upon the guests.
There were grotesque costumes and others rich and finished: rags and tatters of imitation beggars, velvet and gold of courtiers, Yankees, Englishmen, soldiers and sailors, Spanish ladies and Dutch girls; also Puritan maidens. The crowd mingled freely and happily, danced and laughed. Tea and coffee were offered for the ladies—and the gentlemen bought their own drinks.
Alexina had cajoled Farthingham, Lewis and Rickard into telling her what costume each would wear. She had told them she would appear as a Spanish dancer—with red slippers. There were many Spanish dancers on the floor, and all wore red slippers: the reason being, though of course mere men did not know it, that the costumers furnished such slippers to all as a part of the dress.
Shortly before midnight a Puritan maid approached the only admiral in the crowd and, plucking at his sleeve, spoke to him. Her voice was low and seemingly that of a very bitter woman.
“Listen. You don't know me, but you once did me a favor. And I just want to tell you I just overheard Chuck Lewis say Mrs. Grimshaw had promised to marry him. Chuck has a wife and baby back in the States. He deserted them. I know. He ran away with me.”
“I say,” Farthingham answered in surprize. “Why tell—I mean how'd you recognize me?”
The Puritan maid laughed, touched a cameo ring that he wore and then disappeared into the crowd. There were many Puritan maids, and Farthingham had not noticed that she wore any rings. So he despaired of singling her out. He couldn't remember having done any woman a favor, not any Puritan maid, anyway; but then one could never tell what a woman would consider a favor.
“Listen,” said the Puritan maid a few minutes later to a stout, burly, jovial parson. “I just overheard Mrs. Grimshaw say in the dressing-room that she had promised to marry Jack Rickard. You staked me once when I needed a friend. I thought you might be interested to know that Rickard—his real name is Richards—is wanted for embezzlement back in Albany, New York. I know. I ran away with him, and he deserted me in Boston.”
Behind his mask Chuck Lewis' mouth dropped in surprize. Before he could say a word the Puritan maid had flitted from view, and he really could not have told her from a half-dozen of her sisters. He might have distinguished her if he had thought to look at her feet—providing he could have seen them under the long Priscilla gown.
And then a Puritan maid, with a forwardness not strictly in keeping with her demure dress, laid an arresting hand on the arm of a slender Spanish bandit and whispered rapidly:
“Mr. Rickard, Mrs. Grimshaw has just told a friend of mine that she's going to marry Perris Farthingham. He's no more English than I am, and he's wanted for murder in New Orleans—killed a woman's husband and eloped with her. Mrs. Grimshaw ought to be warned.”
“Just a minute——” said the bandit, reaching out to stop her. But the Puritan maid had gone.
He wasn't sure, but he thought that she made directly for the women's dressing-room.
Ten minutes later came the unmasking, and many of the gallants who had been escorting numerous Puritan maidens to receive coffee and cakes blushed to discover that every last one of them was a boy! But some of the men who had received confidential whisperings knew that at least one of those maids had been no boy.
The complications that might have followed her scandal-mongering were delayed by one Judge Haynes, who, having drunk a little more than was judicious, proceeded to mount on a chair and take opportunity to decry the city officials and to point out his own excellent qualities, which he was willing to place at the disposal of the city—providing the citizens signified at the polls that they wished him to serve them.
There was an instant hubbub. Other men mounted chairs and stood a little unsteadily. Sober men pleaded and reasoned; others shouted; women almost wept in their dismay that so pleasant an evening should be spoiled by a pack of politicians. Fists came into play; oaths were heard. It became a riot.
Col. Sutherland, small but erect and dignified, guided his wife and daughter toward the door with one hand and with the other led the dazed and frightened Alexina—in a most charming Spanish costume—after them. Col. Sutherland knew little of women; he tried to tell her she ought not to feel so badly about her party becoming a fiasco.
She spent the night at the boarding-house where the Sutherlands stopped, and much of the night was passed with her head on Mrs. Sutherland's knee, where Alexina was petted and consoled by one who did not try to tell her not to feel badly.
WHEN Alexina returned to her own home about noon the next day, she found two notes. One was from Perris Farthingham. It said that he understood she was “contemplating an alliance” with Mr. Chuck Lewis; and she must not think it was jealousy on his part, for, though his heart was broken, yet he wished her happiness with the man of her choice; but he had very good reason for knowing that Mr. Lewis had already deserted one woman and her child.
The other letter was from Chuck Lewis and explained that he himself had left the letter because she must get it at the earliest possible minute, and he hadn't known where to locate her. Before she married Jack Rickard she ought to know that he was an embezzler and that the woman he had skipped out with had been deserted in Boston and was now in San Francisco looking for him.
There was no letter from Jack Rickard—nor had he called that morning. So Alexina, woman-like, sent for him. But the anxious Farthingham, who had already called many times, appeared first.
“How many people have you told this to?” demanded Alexina, not at all as a doll-faced woman might be expected to demand, as she held out tie letter.
Farthingham stammered a bit and was interrupted with the request that he search out each person to whom he had carried the scandal and apologize before Chuck Lewis heard of it. Farthingham began to stammer again, but she struck him dumb with:
“I was the Puritan maid. I wanted to see if you were a good loser. You're not. No gentleman would malign the character of another on the word of a strange, masked woman. Good day, Mr. Farthingham.”
He was scarcely out of sight of the house before Chuck Lewis, breathless, arrived. He hoped that he was not too late.
To the inquiry as to how many people he had repeated the scandal to, Chuck vowed heartily that he hadn't breathed it to a soul but her.
“You at least are a fairly decent loser,” she said, to Chuck's infinite astonishment.
And he gaped speechless as she explained. He told her pointedly, however, that he did not think it had been a fair trick. And she flared up and told him that it might not have been “fair” but it was certainly “enlightening.” He departed, mumbling puzzled curses on the incomprehensibility of women.
Jack Rickard came, calm, immobile, and asked what service he could do, since the message had said her desire to see him was urgent.
“Marry me,” she said abruptly with tears verging into her eyes.
He hesitated in his answer, and she asked rapidly:
“Do you love me? Have you changed? You haven't been the same since that faro game? You knew I was cheating all the time, didn't you? Tell me, didn't you?”
“It was pretty obvious,” he said. “But, as for loving you—Alexina—I love you as I never loved anything upon this earth. And I've asked you so many times to marry me I began to think I never would get an answer.”
“Today? Right now? I've been foolish to wait so long!”
And she buried herself in his arms and lay helpless, contented—crying, of course.
They were married within the hour, and the city buzzed with the news of it. Congratulations poured in.
That night, when they were alone, she came up to him and, looking wisely, as if bursting with something that must be said and which would be surprizing, she asked——
“Do you know why I married you, Jack?”
“I hope,” he said, drawing his lips into an amused, tender smile, “it was because my charms were irresistible.”
“Do be serious. But do you know what made me know that I was right in loving you?”
“I pass. I'll do what I can to keep you hoodwinked.”
“Hoodwinked, indeed!” she threw at him and tapped his nose with the palm of her hand. “Listen. I was the Puritan maid last night——”
“Puritan? I thought you were a Spanish——”
“Listen. Don't interrupt I was a Puritan maid and changed to the Spanish rig for the unmasking. I had a half-dozen boys wear Puritan costume too. I wanted to see which of you three was the best loser. The Puritan maid told Mr. Farthingham that I was going to marry Chuck——”
“You mean she told fortunes? Don't think much of her as a guesser.”
“Jack, do be serious. The Puritan maid told him that Chuck had a wife and baby in the States. And she told Chuck much the same story about you.”
Rickard looked at her steadily. His was the gambler's face, but there was a light of amazement in his eyes, amazement that she should have been so reckless as to tamper with such scandal.
“I knew you'd be surprized. So were they this morning when I told them. But the Puritan maid—which was this lady right here—had put them to the test. And, Jack, they came to me, whining with their scandal. They were poor losers. But you know, also, that I had told a certain Spanish bandit that Perris, who was also reported about to marry me, was wanted for murder and—and Jack, you were a good loser—a gentleman—though you thought I was going to marry him!”
Rickard was still staring at her, but there was a kind of blankness in his eyes, as if his thoughts were busy somewhere else; or maybe it was a kind of incredulous stare. Anyway, she exclaimed a bit petulantly——
“Don't you believe me?”
He nodded slowly and said:
“I believe you, all right. Yes. But you see, Alexina, there's been a mistake. A friend of mine—just my build—was dead set on that Spanish bandit dress, and at the last minute I let him have it. I wore a domino!”
For a moment Alexina seemed about to faint; a blunder had given her a husband who had evaded the test she had set for him. He stood strained, but resigned to whatever she should think of him. Then swiftly her face changed, brightened and with a cry of joy she flung herself at him, tightening her arms about his neck.
“If you had kept still,” she exclaimed rapturously, almost choking him, “I would never have known—known—what a really fine, square, decent man you are! And I did want to love you best all the time. Honest, I did!”
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1948, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 75 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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