The Dice Thrower by Sydney Southgate. Hunger is the most poignant when it has
forced physical suffering to the highest point without impairing the metal functions. Thus it
was with Silas Carringer, a young man of uncommonly high spirit, when he
found himself a total stranger in a ramshackle Mexican city one rainy night in November.
In his possession remained not a single article that he might have pawned for
a morsel of food, and he had already stripped his body of every shred
of clothing except the few garments. He was compelled by an inborn sense of
fitness of things to retain. Bodily. Starvation as a consequence, was added
to hunger, and his misery was complete. It chanced that an extraordinary happening
awaited Silas Carringer that night in Mexico. Otherwise he would either have drowned himself
in the river within twenty four hours or died of pneumonia within three days.
He had been without food for seventy hours, and his mental desperation had driven
him far in its race with his physical needs to consume the remaining strength of
his emaciated body. Pale weak and tottering, he took what comfort he could
find and the savory odors which came streaming up from the basement kitchens of the
restaurants in the main street. He lacked the courage to beg or steal,
for he had been reared as a gentleman and was accordingly out of place in
the world. His teeth clattered, his eyes had dark, ugly lines under
them. He shambled, stooped, and gasped. He was too desperate to
curse his fate. He could only long for food. He could not reason,
He could not reflect, He could not understand that there were pitying hands
somewhere that might gladly have suckered him. He could think only of the hunger
which consumed him, of the food which could give him warmth and comparative happiness.
Staggering along the streets, he came at last to a restaurant a little
way from the main thoroughfares. Stopping before the window, he stared greedily at
the stakes within, thick and juicy, lined with big fat oysters lying on
ice, At the slices of ham as large as his hat, at the
roasted chickens, brown and ready for the table, and he ground his teeth
groaning, and staggered on. A few steps onward was a drinking saloon.
At one sight of it was a private door with the words family Entrance painted
thereon, And in the recess of the door, which was closed, there
stood the dark figure of a man. In spite of his own agony,
Carringer saw something which appalled him in the stranger's face as the street light fell
upon it, and yet at the same time he was fascinated. Perhaps it
was the unspeakable anguish of those features that appealed to the starving man's sympathy.
And he came to an uncertain halt at the doorway and stared rudely upon the
stranger. At first, the man did not notice him, seeming to look
straight out into the street with a curious fixity of expression, and the deathlike
pallor of his face sent a chill through Carringer's limbs, chilled nigh to stone,
though they were already the stranger caught sight of him at last, Ah,
he said, slowly, with a peculiar clearness, the rain has caught
you too. Without an overcoat or umbrella, stand in this doorway. There
is room for two. The voice was not unkind, though it sounded strangely
harsh. It was the first word that had been addressed to Carringer since hunger
possessed him, and to be spoken to it all gave him cheer. So
he took his place in the doorway beside the mysterious stranger, who at once
relapsed into his fixed gaze at nothingness across the street. It may rain for
a long time, he said, presently, stirring himself. I am cold,
and I can feel you trembling and shivering. Let's step inside and drink.
He turned and opened the door. Carringer followed hope, slowly warming his
chilled heart. The pale stranger led the way into one of the little private
compartments with which the place was fitted. Before sitting down, he drew from
his pocket a roll of bank bills. You are younger than I, he
said to carrying her. Will you go to the bar and buy a bottle
of absinthe and bring also a pitcher of water and some glasses. I don't
like the waiters hanging around here is a twenty dollar bill. Carringer took the
money and started down the corridor towards the bar. He clutched the sudden wealth
in his hand tightly. It felt warm and comfortable, sending a delicious tingling
sensation through his arm. How many glorious meals did not the money represent?
He could smell an imaginary steak broiled with fat mushrooms and melted butter in the
steaming dish. Then he paused and looked steadily backward to where he left the
stranger. Why not slip away while he had the opportunity, away from the
drinking saloon with the money, to the restaurant he had passed half an hour
ago and buys something to eat. It was risky, but he hesitated,
and the coward in him there are other names than this triumphed. He went
straight to the bar, as a stranger had requested, and ordered the liquor.
His step was weaker as he returned to the compartment. The stranger was
sitting at a little table, staring at the opposite wall, just as he
had stared across the street. He wore a wide brimmed slouch hat pulled well
over his eyes. Carringer could only vaguely take the measure of the man's face.
It was only after Carringer had set the bottle and the glasses on the
table and seated himself opposite that. The stranger noticed his return. Oh you
have brought it, he exclaimed, without raising his voice. How kind of
you. Now, please close the door. Carringer was counting out the change
from his pocket when the stranger interrupted him. Keep that, he said,
you will need it, for I am going to win it back in a
way that may interest you. Let us drink first, though, and I
will explain. He mixed two drinks of absinthe and water, and the two
men lifted their glasses. Carringer had never tasted the liquor before, and it
offended his palate at first. But no sooner had it passed down his throat
than he began to feel warm again and the most delicious thrills he had heard
of the absent drinkers of Paris. And he wondered no longer at the deadly
fascination of the liquor, not realizing that his extreme weakness and the emptiness of
his stomach made him peculiarly susceptible to its effects. This will do us good,
murmured the stranger, setting down his glass. Presently, we shall have
more. Meanwhile, tell me if you know how to play with dice.
Carringer replied that he did not. I was afraid that you might not,
said the stranger. All the same, please go to the bar and bring
a dice box. I would ring for it, he explained, seeing Carringer
glancing toward the bell. But I don't want the waiters coming in and out.
Carringer brought the dice box, closed the door carefully again, and the
play began. It was not one of the simpler games, but had complications
in which judgment as well as chance played a part. After a game or
two without stakes, the stranger said, you have picked it up quite quickly.
All the same, I will show you that you don't understand it.
We will throw for a dollar a game, and in that way I shall
win the money that you received in change. Otherwise I would be robbing you,
and I imagine that you cannot afford to lose. I mean no offense.
I am a plain spoken man, but I believe in honesty before politeness.
Here his face relaxed into a most fearful grin. I merely want a
little recreation, and you are so good natured that I am sure you will
not object. On the contrary, replied Carringer politely, I shall enjoy it
very well, but let us drink again before we start. I believe I
am growing colder. They drank again. Carringer took the liquor down with relish,
for it was something in his stomach at least, and it warmed and
soothed him. Then the play commenced. He won. The pale stranger smiled
quietly and opened another game again. Carringer won. Then the stranger pushed back
his hat and fixed his quiet gaze upon his opponent, smiling Yet Carringer obtained
a full view of the man's face for the first time, and it appalled
him. He had begun to acquire a certain self possession and ease, and
the novelty of the adventure was beginning to pall before the new advances of his
terrible hunger, when this revelation of the man's face threw him back into confusion.
It was the extraordinary expression of the face that alarmed him. Never upon
the face of a living being had he beheld a pallor so chilling so deathlike.
The features were more than pale, they were ghastly as sunless frost Carringer's
powers of observation had been sharpened by the absinthe, and after having detected the
stranger in an absent minded effort on several occasions to stroke a beard which had
no existence, he reflected that some of the whiteness of the face might be
due to the recent shaving and removal of a full beard. The eyes were
black, and his lower lip was purple. The hands were fine, white
and thin, and black veins bulged out upon them. After gazing for a
few moments at Carringer, the stranger pulled his hat down over his eyes.
Again. You are lucky, he said, referring to the success of his
opponent. Suppose we try another drink. There is nothing to shop up in
a man's wits like absinthe, and I see that you and I are going
to have a delightful game. After they drank, the play proceeded. Carringer
won from the first, rarely losing a game. He became greatly excited,
color flooded his cheeks, and he forgot his hunger. Thus, Stranger exhausted
the little roll of bills which he had first produced, and drew forth another
much larger in amount. There were several thousand dollars. In the role.
At Carringer's right hand were his winnings something like two hundred dollars. The stakes
were raised and the game went on. Another drink was taken. Then fortune
turned to the stranger. He began to win easily. Carringer was stung by
these reverses and began to play with all his skill and judgment at his command.
He took the lead again. Only once did it occur to him to
wonder what he should do with the money if he continued to win, But
a sense of honor decided for him that it belonged to the stranger. As
the play went on, Carringer's physical suffering returned with increased aggressiveness. Sharp pains
darted through him viciously, and he writhed within him and ground his teeth in
agony. Could he not order a supper with his winnings, he wondered,
No, it was, of course out of the question. The stranger did
not observe his suffering, for he was now completely absorbed in the game.
He seemed puzzled and disconcerted. He played with the greatest care, studying each
throw minutely. Not a word escaped him. The two men drank occasionally,
and the dice continued to rattle the the money kept piling up at Carringer's hand.
The pale stranger suddenly began to behave strangely. At moments, he would
start and throw back his head, listening intently. His eyes would sharpen and
flash as he did so, then they would sink back into heaviness once more.
Carringer saw a strange expression sweep over the man's face on several occasions,
an expression of ghastly frightfulness, and the features would become fixed in a peculiar
grimace. He noticed also that his companion was steadily sinking deeper and deeper into
a condition of apathy. Occasionally, nonetheless, he would raise his eyes to
Carringer's face after some lucky throw, and he would fix them upon him with
a steadiness that made the starving man grow chiller than ever he had been before.
Then came the time when the stranger produced another roll of bills and braced
himself for a bigger effort. With speech somewhat thick, but still deliberate and
very quiet, he addressed his young opponent, you have won seventy four thousand
dollars, and that is the exact amount I have remaining. We have been
playing for several hours, and I am very tired and sore. You let
us hasten the finish. You have seventy four thousand dollars. I have seventy
four thousand dollars. Neither of us has a scent besides. Each will now
stake his all and throw a final game for it without hesitation, Carringer agreed.
The bills made a considerable pile upon the table. Carryinger threw, and
his starving heart beat violently as the pale stranger took up the dice box with
exasperating deliberation. Hours seemed to pass before he threw, But at last the
dice rattled on the table and the pale stranger had won. The winner sat
staring at the dice, and then he leaned slowly back in his chair,
settling himself with seeming comfort, raised his eyes to Carringers and fixed that unearthly
stare upon him. He did not speak. His face showed not a trace
of emotion or even of intelligence. He simply stared. One cannot keep one's
eyes open very long without winking. But the stranger never winked at all.
He sat so motionless that carringer began to fill with a vague dread. I
will go now, he said, standing back from the table. As he
spoke, he recollected his position and found himself swaying like a drunk man.
The stranger made no reply, nor did he relax his gaze. Under that
gaze, the younger man shrank back into his chair, terrified and faint.
A deadly silence filled the compartment. Suddenly he became aware that two men were
talking in the next room, and he listened cautiously. Walls were of wood,
and he heard every word distinctly. Yes, said a voice. He
was seen to turn into this street about three hours ago, and he must
have shaved. He must have shaved to remove a full beard would naturally make
a great change in the man. His extreme pallor attracted attention. As you
know, he has been seriously troubled with heart disease lately, and it has
greatly altered him. Yes, but his old skill remains. Why this is
the most daring bank robbery we have ever had. One hundred and forty eight
thousand dollars, think of it. How long is it since he came out
of prison after the new York affair eight years. In that time he has
grown a beard and lived by throwing dice. No human being can come out
a winner in a game with him. The two men clink glasses and a
silence fell between them. Then Carringer heard the shuffling of their feet as they
passed out, and he sat on, suffering terrible mental and bodily pain.
The silence remained unbroken save for the sound of voices far off and the clink
of glasses. The dice players, the pale Man and the starving one,
sat gazing at each other, with one hundred and forty eight thousand dollars piled
up on the table between them. The winner made no attempt to gather up
the money. He merely sat and stared at Carringer, wholly unmoved by the
conversation. In the adjoining compartment, Carringer began to shake with an augu The
cold, unwavering gaze of the stranger sent ice into his veins. Unable to
bear it longer, he moved to one side and was amazed to discover that
the eyes of the pale man, instead of following him, remained fixed upon
the spot where he had sat. A great fear came over him. He
poured out the absinthe for himself with shaking fingers, staring back at his companion,
all the while watching him, watching him as he drank alone and unnoticed.
He drained the glass, and the poison had a peculit uliar effect upon
him. He felt his heart pounding with alarming force and rapidity. His breathing
came in great pumping spasms. His hunger was now become a deadly thing,
for the absinthe was destroying his vitals. In terror, he leaned forward to
beg the hospitality of the stranger, but his whisper had no effect. One
of the man's hands lay on the table carrying her, placed his own upon
it, and drew back quickly, for the hand was as cold as stone.
Then there came into the starving man's face a crafty expression, and he
turned eagerly to the money. Silently he grasped the pile of bills with his
skeleton fingers, looking stealthily every moment at the stark figure of his companion,
mortally dreading lest he should stir. And yet instead of hastening from the room
with the stolen fortune, he sank back into his chair again. A deadly
fascination forced him there, and he sat rigid, staring back into the wide
stare of the other man. He felt his breathing coming heavier and his heart
beats growing weaker, but he was comforted because his hunger was no longer causing
him that acute pain. He felt easier and actually yawned. If he had
dared, he would have gone to sleep. The pale stranger still stared at
him without ceasing, and Carringer had no inclination for anything but simply to stare
back. The two detectives who had traced the notorious bank robber to the drinking
saloon moved slowly through the compartments, searching in every nook and cranny of the
building. At last they reached a compartment from which no answer came. When
they knocked. They pushed the door open with a stereotype topology on their lips.
They beheld two men before them, one of middle age and the other
very young, sitting perfectly still and in the queerest manner imaginable, staring at
each other. Across the table between the two was a pile of money,
and near at hand an empty absinthe bottle, a water pitcher, two glasses,
and a dice box. The dice lay before the elder man as though
he had just thrown them with a quick movement. One of the detectives covered
the older man with a revolver and commanded him to put up his hands,
but the dice thrower paid not the slightest heed. The detectives exchanged staring glances.
They stepped nearer, looking closely into the gamester's faces, and knew in
the same instant they were dead. The End of the Dice Throer by Sydney Southgate