'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.'
'I'll make it up to five pounds, Father,' said Judge Comyn. 'There. Four ladies.'
O'Connor whistled. The priest looked at the spread-out queens and then at his own hand.
'Are not kings above queens?' he asked in puzzlement.
'They are if you have four of them,' said the judge.
The priest laid his cards on the table.
'But I do,' he said. And he did. 'Lord save us,' he breathed, 'but I thought all was lost. I thought you must have the royal thing there.'
They cleared the cards and matches away as they rolled into Tralee. O'Connor got his cards back. The judge put the broken matches in the ashtray. O'Connor counted out twelve single pound notes from his pocket and handed them over to the priest.
'God bless you, my son,' said the priest.
Judge Comyn regretfully got out his cheque book. 'Fifty pounds exactly, I believe, Father,' he said.
'If you say so,' said the priest, 'sure and I have forgotten what we even started with.'
'I assure you I owe the orphanage fifty pounds,' said the judge. He prepared to write. 'You said the Dingle Orphanage? Is that what I should write?'
The priest appeared perplexed.
'You know, I do not believe they even have a bank account, so small is the place,' said the Father.
'Then I had better make it out to you personally,' said the judge, waiting for the name.
'But I do not have a bank account myself,' said the priest in bewilderment. 'I have never handled money.'
'There is a way round it,' said the judge urbanely. He wrote rapidly, tore out the cheque and offered it to the priest. 'This is made payable to bearer. The Bank of Ireland in Tralee will cash it and we are just in time. They close in thirty minutes.'
'You mean they will give me money at the bank for this?' asked the priest, holding the cheque carefully.
'Certainly,' said the judge, 'but be careful not to lose it. It is payable to the bearer, so anyone in possession of it would be able to cash it. Well now, O'Connor, Father, it has been a most interesting, albeit expensive trip. I must wish you good day.'
'And for me,' said O'Connor sadly. 'The Lord must have been dealing you the cards, Father. I've seldom seen such a hand. It'll be a lesson to me. No more playing cards on trains, least of all with the Church.'
'And I'll see the money is in the most deserving of orphanages before the sun sets,' said the priest.
They parted on Tralee station platform and Judge Comyn proceeded to his hotel. He wished for an early night before the start of the court hearings on the morrow.
The first two cases of the morning were very straightforward, being pleas of guilty for minor offences and he awarded fines in both cases. The empanelled jurors of Tralee sat in enforced idleness.
Judge Comyn had his head bowed over his papers when the third defendant was called. Only the top of his judge's wig was visible to the court below.
'Put up Ronan Quirk O'Connor,' boomed the clerk to the court.
There was a scuffling of steps. The judge went on writing.
'You are Ronan Quirk O'Connor?' asked the clerk of the new defendant.
'I am,' said the voice.
'Ronan Quirk O'Connor,' said the clerk, 'you are charged with cheating at cards, contrary to Section 17 of the Gaming Act of 1845. In that you, Ronan Quirk O'Connor, on the 13th day of May of this year, in the County of Kerry, by fraud or unlawful device or ill-practice in playing at, or with, cards, won a sum of money from one Lurgan Keane to yourself. And thereby obtained the said sum of money from the said Lurgan Keane by false pretences. How say you to the charge? Guilty or not guilty?'
During this recitation Judge Comyn laid down his pen with unusual care, stared for a few more seconds at his papers as if wishing he could conduct the entire trial in this manner, and finally raised his eyes.
The wispy little man with the spaniel eyes stared back at him across the court in dumb amazement. Judge Comyn stared at the defendant in equal horror.
'Not guilty,' whispered O'Connor.
'One moment,' said the judge. The court sat in silence, staring at him as he sat impassive on his bench. Behind the mask of his face, his thoughts were in a turmoil. He could have stopped the case at once, claiming that he had an acquaintance with the defendant.
Then the thought occurred to him that this would have meant a retrial, since the defendant had now been formally charged, with all the extra costs to the taxpayer involved in that procedure. It came down, he told himself, to one question: could he trust himself to conduct the court fairly and well, and to give a true and fair summing up to the jury? He decided that he could.
'Swear in the jury, if you please,' he said.
This the clerk did, then inquired of O'Connor if he had legal representation. O'Connor said he did not, and wished to conduct his own defence. Judge Comyn swore to himself. Fairness would now demand that he bend over backwards to take the defendant's part against prosecuting counsel.
This gentleman now rose to present the facts which, he said, were simple enough. On 13 May last, a grocer from Tralee, one Lurgan Kea
ne, had boarded the Dublin to Tralee train in Dublin to return home. He happened perchance to be carrying a quantity of cash upon his person, to wit, £71.
During the course of the journey he had entered into a game of chance with the defendant and another party, using a pack of cards produced by the defendant. So remarkable had been the losses he had incurred that he became suspicious. At Farranfore, one stop before Tralee, he had descended from the train on an excuse, approached a servant of the railway company and asked that the police at Tralee be present upon the platform.
His first witness was a police sergeant of the Tralee force, a large, solid man who gave evidence of arrest. He swore that, acting on information received, he had been present at Tralee station on 13 May last, when the Dublin train rolled in. There he had been approached by a man he later knew to be Mr Lurgan Keane, who had pointed out to him the defendant.
He had asked the defendant to accompany him to Tralee police station, which the man did. There he was required to turn out his pockets. Among the contents was a pack of cards which Mr Keane identified as those that had been used in a game of poker upon the train.
These, he said, had been sent to Dublin for examination and upon receipt of the report from Dublin the accused O'Connor had been charged with the offence.
So far, so clear. The next witness was from the Fraud Squad of the Garda in Dublin. He had evidently been on the train of yesterday, mused the judge, but travelling third class.
The detective constable swore that upon close examination the deck of cards had been seen to be a marked deck. The prosecuting counsel held up a deck of cards and the detective identified it by his own mark. The deck was passed to him. In what way were the cards marked, inquired counsel.
'In two manners, my lord,' the detective told the judge. 'By what is called "shading" and "trimming". Each of the four suits is indicated on the back of the cards by trimming the edges at different places, on each end of the card so that it does not matter which way up the card is held. In the trimming, the white border between the edge of the pattern and the edge of the card is caused to vary in width. This variation, though very slight, can be observed from across the table, thus indicating to the cheat what suits his opponent is holding. If that is clear?'
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