Speaker 1: 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