No Comebacks (34 page)

With a half-smile, as if amazed at his boldness, the wispy man took up one hand and held it in front of him.

'I will bet you, sir, one imaginary penny that you cannot deal yourself a better hand than this one.'

'Done,' said the judge, and dealt a second hand, which he held up in front of him. It was not a full house, but contained a pair of nines.

'Beady?' asked Judge Comyn. The wispy man nodded. They put their cards down. The wispy man had three fives.

'Ah,' said the judge, 'but I did not draw any fresh cards, as was my right. Again, my dear fellow.'

They did it again. This time the wispy man drew three fresh cards, the judge two. The judge had the better hand.

'I win my imaginary penny back,' said the judge.

'That you do, sir,' said the other. "That was a fine hand. You have the knack of the cards. I have seen it, though not having it myself. Yes, sir. The knack it is.'

'Nothing but clear deduction and the calculated risk,' corrected Judge Comyn.

At this point they exchanged names, only surnames as was the practice in those days. The judge omitted his title, giving his name simply as Comyn, and the other revealed he was O'Connor. Five minutes later, between Sallins and Kildare, they attempted, a little friendly poker. Five-card draw seemed the appropriate form and went without saying. There was, of course, no money involved.

'The trouble is,' said O'Connor after the third hand, 'I cannot remember who has wagered what. Your honour has his fine memory to help him.'

'I have it,' said Judge Comyn, and triumphantly foraged in his briefcase for a large box of matches. He enjoyed a cigar after his breakfast and another after dinner, and would never have used a petrol lighter on a good four penny Havana.

' Tis the very thing,' said 0 'Connor in wonderment as the judge dealt out twenty matchsticks each.

They played a dozen hands, with some enjoyment, and honours were about even. But it is hard to play two-handed poker, for if one party, having a poor hand, want to 'fold', the other party is finished also. Just past Kildare town O'Connor asked the priest, 'Father, would you not care to join us?'

'Oh, I fear not,' said the rubicund priest with a laugh, 'for I am no hand with the cards. Though,' he added, 'I did once play a little whist with the lads in the seminary.'

'It's the same principle, Father,' said the judge. 'Once learned, never forgotten. You are simply dealt a hand of five cards; you can draw fresh ones up to five if you are not happy with the deal. Then you assess whether the hand you hold is good or bad. If it is good, you wager it is better than ours, if not, you decline to wager, and fold your hand.'

'I'm not certain about wagering,' said the priest doubtfully.

"Tis only matchsticks, Father,' said O'Connor.

'Does one try to take tricks?' asked the priest.

O'Connor raised his eyebrows. Judge Comyn laughed a trifle patronizingly.

'No taking of tricks,' he said. 'The hand you hold is evaluated according to a precise scale of values. Look...'

He rummaged in his briefcase and produced a sheet of white lined paper. From his inner pocket a rolled-gold propelling pencil. He began to write on the sheet. The priest peered to see.

'Top of the list,' said the judge, 'is the royal flush. That means five cards, all in the same suit, all in sequence and beginning with the ace. Since they must be in sequence that means, of course, that the others must be king, queen, jack and ten.'

'I suppose so,' said the priest warily.

'Then comes four of a kind,' said the judge, writing the words in below the royal flush. 'That means exactly what it says. Four aces, four kings, four queens and so forth down to four twos. Never mind the fifth card. And, of course, four aces is better than four kings or anything else. AH right?'

The priest nodded.

'Then comes the full house,' said O'Connor.

'Not quite,' corrected Judge Comyn. 'The straight flush comes next, my friend.'

O'Connor clapped his forehead in the manner of one who admits he is a fool. 'Of course, that's true,' he said. 'You see, Father, the straight flush is like the royal, save only that it is not led off by an ace. But the five cards must be of the same suit and in sequence.'

The judge wrote his description under the words 'four of a kind' on the sheet of paper.

'Now comes Mr O'Connor's full house, which means three of a kind and two of another kind, making up the full five cards. If the three cards are tens and the other two queens, this is called a full house, tens on queens.'

The priest nodded again.

The judge went down the list, explaining each hand, through 'flush', 'straight', 'threes', 'two pairs', 'one pair' and 'ace high'.

'Now,' he said when he had finished, 'obviously one pair, or ace high, or a mixed hand, which is called a bag of nails, would be so poor you really wouldn't wager on them.'

The father gazed at the list. 'Could I refer to this?' he asked.

'Of course,' said Judge Comyn, 'keep it by you, Father, by all means.'

'Well, seeing as it's only for matchsticks ...' said the priest, and was dealt in. Friendly games of chance, after all, are not a sin. Not for match-sticks. They divided the sticks into three even piles and began to play.

For the first two hands the priest folded early, watching the others bid. The judge won four matchsticks. On the third hand the priest's face lit up.

'Is that not good?' he asked, displaying his hand to the other two. It
was
good; a full house, jacks on kings. The judge folded his own hand in exasperation.

'Yes, it's very good, Father,' said O'Connor patiently, 'but you are not supposed to show us, don't you see? For if we know what you have, we will not wager anything if our hand is not as good as yours. Your own hand should be... well now, like the confessional.'

That made sense to the priest. 'Like the confessional,' he repeated. 'Yes, I see. Not a word to anyone, eh?'

He apologized and they started again. For sixty minutes up to Thurles they played fifteen hands, and the judge's pile of matchsticks mounted. The priest was almost cleaned out and sad-eyed O'Connor had only half his pile left. He made too many lapses; the good father seemed half at sea; only the judge played hard, calculating poker, assessing the options and odds with his legally trained mind. The game was a vindication of his theory of mind over luck. Just after Thurles O'Connor's mind seemed to wander. The judge had to call him to the game twice.

'I fear it's not very interesting, playing with matchsticks,' he confessed after the second time. 'Shall we not end it here?'

'Oh, I confess I'm rather enjoying it,' said the judge. Most winners enjoy the game.

'Or we could make it more interesting,' said O'Connor apologetically. 'I'm not by nature a betting man, but a few shillings would do no harm.'

'If you wish,' said the judge, 'though I observe that you have lost a few matches.'

'Ah, your honour, my luck must change soon,' said O'Connor with his elfin smile.

'Then I must retire,' said the priest with finality. 'For I fear I have but three pounds in my purse, and that to last me through my holiday with my mother at Dingle.'

'But, Father,' said O'Connor, 'without you we could not play. And a few shillings ..

'Even a few shillings, my son, are too much for me,' said the priest. 'The Holy Mother Church is no place for men who want to have money jingling in their pockets.'

'Wait,' said the judge, 'I have it. You and I, O'Connor, will divide the matchsticks between us. We will each then lend the good Father an equal amount of sticks, the sticks by now having a value. If he loses, we will not claim our debt. If he wins, he will repay us the sticks we loaned him, and benefit by the balance.'

"Tis a genius you are, your honour,' said O'Connor in wonderment.

'But I could not gamble for money,' protested the priest.

There was a gloomy silence for a while.

'Unless any winnings went to a Church charity?' suggested O'Connor. 'Surely the Lord would not object to that?'

'It's the Bishop who would object,' said the priest, 'and I may well meet him first. Still... there
is
the orphanage at Dingle. My mother prepares the meals there, and the poor wains are fierce cold in winter, with the price of turf being what it is ...

'A donation,' cried the judge in triumph. He turned to his bewildered companions. 'Anything the father wins, over and above the stake we lend him, is our joint donation to the orphanage. What do you say?'

'I suppose even our Bishop could not object to a donation to the orphanage,' said the priest.

'And the donation will be our gift in return for your company at a game of cards,' said O'Connor. "Tis perfect.'

The priest agreed and they started again. The judge and O'Connor split the sticks into two piles. O'Connor pointed out that with under fifty sticks they might rim out of tokens. Judge Comyn solved that one too. They broke the sticks in halves; those halves with a sulpur head were worth twice those without.

O'Connor averred that he was carrying his personal holiday money of over £30 on him, and to this limit would play the game. There was no question of either party refusing Comyn's cheque; he was so obviously a gentleman.

This done, they loaned the priest ten matches with heads and four without, half from each of them.

'Now,' said Judge Comyn as he shuffled the cards, 'what about the stakes?'

O'Connor held up half a matchstick without any head on it.

'Ten shillings?' he said. That shook the judge a bit. The forty matchsticks he had emptied from his box were now in eighty halves, representing £60 sterling, a sizable sum in 1938. The priest had £12 in front of him, the other two men £24 each at those values. He heard the priest sigh.

'In for a penny, in for a pound. Lord help me,' said the priest.

The judge nodded abruptly. He need not have worried. He took the first two hands and nearly £10 with it. In the third hand O'Connor folded early, losing his 10s. playing stake yet again. The priest put down four of his £1 matchsticks. Judge Comyn looked at his hand; he had a full house, jacks on sevens. It had to be better. The priest only had £7 left.

'I'll cover your four pounds, Father,' he said pushing his matches to the centre, 'and I'll raise you five pounds.'

'Oh dear,' he said, 'I'm nearly out. What can I do?'

'Only one thing,' said O'Connor, 'if you don't want Mr Comyn to raise you again to a sum you cannot cover. Push five pounds forward and ask to see the cards.'

'I '11 see the cards,' said the priest, as if reciting a ritual as he pushed five headed matchsticks forward. The judge put down his full house and waited. The priest laid out four tens. He got his £9 back, plus another £9 from the judge, plus the 30s. table stakes. With his £2 still in hand, he had £2110s.

In this manner they arrived at Limerick Junction which, as is proper for an Irish railway system, is nowhere near Limerick but just outside Tipperary. Here the train went past the main platform, then backed up to it, since the platform could not be reached on the down line. A few people got on and off, but no one disturbed the game or entered the compartment.

By Charleville the priest had taken £10 off O'Connor, who was looking worried, and the game slowed up. O'Connor tended to fold quickly, and too many hands ended with another player electing to fold as well. Just before Mallow, by agreement, they eliminated all the small cards, keeping sevens and up, and making a thirty-two-card deck. Then the game speeded up again.

By Headford poor O'Connor was down £12 and the judge £20, both to the priest.

'Would it not be a good idea if I paid back now the twelve pounds I started with?' asked the priest.

Both the others agreed it would. They got their £6 loans back. The priest still had £32 to play with. O'Connor continued to play cautiously, only wagering high and winning £10 back with a full house that beat two pairs and a flush. The lakes of Killarney drifted by the window unadmired.

Out of Farranfore the judge knew he had the hand he had been waiting for. After drawing three cards he gazed in delight at four queens and a seven of clubs in his hand. O'Connor must have thought he had a good hand too, for he went along when the judge covered the priest's £5 and raised him £5. When the priest responded by covering the £5 and raising £10, O'Connor lost his nerve and folded. Once again he was £12 down on where he had started playing.

The judge bit his thumbnail. Then he covered the priest's £10 and raised him £10.

'Five minutes to Tralee,' said the guard, poking his head round the compartment door. The priest stared in dismay at the matchsticks in the centre of the table and at his own small pile representing £12.

'I don't know,' he said. 'Oh, Lord, I don't know.'

'Father,' said O'Connor, 'you can't raise any more; you'll have to cover it and ask to see.'

'I suppose so,' said the priest sadly, pushing £10 in matchsticks into the centre of the table and leaving himself with £2. 'And I was doing so well. I should have given the orphanage the thirty-two pounds while I had it. And now I have only two pounds for them.'