The Mott Street Poker Club
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The Mott Street Poker Club

 

Mrs. Gin-Sing Protests

And Mr. Gin-Sing Succumbs to Circumstances

 

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MR. HONG-LUNG’S philosophy soon proved to be sound. After one or two further displays of eccentricity, Mr. Gin-Sing resumed his normal condition and his regular attendance at the seances of the Club, and in a day or two his irregularities were forgotten.

Matters had reached this satisfactory stage, when the scientific investigations of the club were disturbed in an unusually rude manner, in the middle of an appetizing jack pot, by the sudden entrance into the department of a large Milesian lady with red hair and a snub nose, who was resplendently arrayed in a somewhat mangy sealskin sacque and a green velvet bonnet with red and yellow feathers. This new-comer surveyed the scene with a cold and baleful glare, at which Mr. Gin-Sing appeared to collapse within his clothes, while the remainder of the Club looked on with undisguised amazement.

“It’s here ye are, is it?” said the large lady, severely, “gamblin’ yer money away wid a lot a’ Chinase toughs.”

“Fliends of mine, my deal,” replied Mr. Gin-Sing, in a conciliatory tone, “My fliend, Mistel Lee-Tip.”

“Well,” interrupted the large lady, “I’ll give yer friend the straight tip. If I ketch him lading my husband astray—”

“How you callee him — husban?” interrupted Mr. Hong-Lung.

“Yis, I call him me busban’, ye rat-ating thafe,” replied the large lady tartly, “bekase he is me busban’. We was married by the Mayor lasht wake, and here he does be sphendin’ his honeymoon and his money wid a lot of gamblers and thaves, an’ me widout the proice av a quart of beer in the house. Now, thin, Misther Gin-Sling, come along home like a dacent married man — d’ye hear me?”

Mr. Gin-Sing entered a feeble protest, but his injured better half reached over the table, and having secured a reliable grip upon his ear, towed him more firmly than gently to the door. His associates viewed the scene with an amazement too deep for words. At the door the large lady, having renewed her grip upon her recalcitrant spouse, turned on them one long and withering look. Then she ejaculated:

“Rats!”

And with this Parthian shaft she melted into space, still maintaining her auricular attachment to Mr. Gin-Sing.

Mr. Lee-Tip, Mr. Hong-Lung and Mr. Hop-Sam spent a quarter of an hour in philosophic mental communion. Then Mr. Lee-Tip said:

“Why fol him mally Ilish woman?”

Mr. Hong-Lung replied:

“Because him heap dlam fool.”

Mr. Hop-Sam groaned an assent. Mr. Hop-Sam had been a married man himself, until Mrs. Hop-Sam had eloped with a cigar-maker from Christie Street and opened a laundry in Brooklyn.

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