SHORT STORY. THE CHEAT

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 124, 27 May 1932, Page 12

SHORT STORY. THE CHEAT

By FRANK CHAMBERLAIN.

"That's one story you'll never write," I was told when I related to my closest friend the tale of the only time in my life when I deliberately tried to cheat someone and was myself buncoed out of 50 dollars.

It was a long, hot run from Reno to Sacramento. I arrived there around eight in the evening, amused myself walking around the town and went to bed early, knowing I had an all-day trip to Hollywood ahead of me.

I awoke early the next day. Somewhere around seven. My train left at eight-thirty. I had half an hour to spare and decided to walk around the block, close to the station.

"Could you tell me where the bus leaves for the south?" a short, mild-faced man asked me as I stood on a corner, taking in all around me like a village yokel.

Luckily, I knew. I remembered it from the time I was last in Sacramento. I had ridden from San Francisco in a bus, and who could forget a bus station after some nine or ten hours riding over the mountains in a bus? I told the stranger where the depot was, and he thanked

And before I knew it he was talking to mo. Was I a stranger? And did I come from the east? And what business was I in?

It was good to talk to someone. I told him I had just come from Reno. What a place. What a place.

We walked down to the next corner together. He was very affable. He said he was going down to Los Angeles by bus, but when he heard I was going that way by train he'd change his mind and come with me. It would be good to have company, he said. A fellow gets lonely travelling alone.

We were interrupted by a man who wanted to know where the Maxwell Hotel was.

"We're both strangers," my friend volunteered.

"I don't suppose you'd have told me, even if you knew," the stranger retorted, in a nasty tone. "I find the people here very discourteous. In my hometown —I come from Georgia—the people go out of their way to help people." He talked with a real southern drawl. I didn't like him from the first.

I protested that such a tiling would be ridiculous. I told the other man I would pay hira the balance of my debt if he would come over to my hotel.

The Georgian got hot under the collar. We set off, steadily increasing our pace, with him following us. He threatened again to call the police. "We'd better split," my friend whispered to me. "I'll meet you at the train."

I was scared stiff. I agreed. I hurried away. I looked back after I had gone a block and saw the two men slinking off together. I had lost my 50 dollars, and I didn't have a cent to continue my journey.

Just then I looked down, and lo and behold, I was standing in front of my hotel without any clothes on. They had stolen my clothes, too. It was just then that I woke up— and it was with firm resolve I pledged never again to gamble nickles at the roulette wheel at Reno.