"
"Yes, come along," said Desmond, a merry twinkle in his eyes.
CHAPTER VIII.
PLAYING TO CATCH A WEASEL--A SHARP'S
SCHOLAR--OPENING UP OF THE GAME--TWO
BIG HANDS--A CRISIS.
"I can't go, but I'd like to; but you give me your address, and some day
you will see me in York. I feel like the man who said, 'See Venice and
die;' I want to see New York. Say, they tell me there are a great many
sharpers in that wonderful city."
"Yes, it's full of them."
"Well, wouldn't I have fun beating those fellows, especially on the race
track, eh? They tell me these sharps are as thick as mosquitoes in
August down on the race tracks."
"Yes, they hover around there."
"I like you, young fellow."
"Thank you."
"Yes, I do."
"So you said."
"You're honest; I like an honest young fellow every time. Are you an
orphan?"
"A half orphan."
"Your mother dead?"
"No, my father."
"Well, I am just the other way--my mother is dead and my dad, he is away
up. They say he is a great man. I reckon he is, but I am no shakes; you
see I care more for fun than lands. Now, see here; I'll teach you some
tricks. Would you like to learn?"
"Yes, I would."
"Good enough, and when you get back to York you can punish some of those
sharps there, for my occupation is gone out here; they won't let me play
against them or I'd beat them every time--yes, I beat their game and
then give the money away to some poor person who needs it; but they
don't know you, and before we get to the end of the route some of those
fellows may get aboard, and as I said, they don't know you, and we'll
have some great fun; you can beat the game.
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