Небольшой рассказ на адаптированном английском. Уровень сложности ниже среднего.
Fifty years ago, Judge Comyn sat in a first class railway compartment reading the Irish Times. The train was about to leave Dublin on its four hour journey to Tralee. Judge Comyn was going to be the judge at the County Court.
A small man came into the compartment and sat opposite the judge. Then, just before the train left the station, a redfaced priest joined them, breathing heavily.
‘You almost missed the train, Father,’ said the small man.
‘Yes, my son,’ the priest replied, ‘I had to run to catch it.’
At first, the three strangers were silent. The judge read some legal papers which he had put on the table in front of him.
‘Excuse me,’ said the small man. ‘Do you mind if I use the edge of the table?’
‘You’re welcome, certainly,’ said the judge.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the small man. He took a pack of cards out of his pocket and started to play patience on the table.
The judge tried to read his legal papers, but he kept looking at the game of patience. The small man was playing badly.
Finally, the judge spoke. ‘Put that king on the queen and you can finish the game.’
‘Thank you sir,’ said the small man, ‘but I’ve never finished a game of patience in my life.’
The priest had put down his book to watch the end of the game.
‘You will, you will,’ said the judge. Put the red nine on the black ten. There you are, you see, you’ve finished.’
‘But only with your help, sir,’ said the small man. ‘I can tell that you are good at cards.’
‘Thank you,’ said the judge, feeling pleased with himself. The small man began to deal hands of poker on the table. He looked at each hand carefully then put the cards down.
Time passed. After a while, the small man grew tired of playing cards by himself. He put the cards down. ‘It’s a long way to Tralee,’ he said.
‘I saw you were dealing hands of poker,’ said the judge. ‘Perhaps we could play a few hands of poker together?’
‘Of course,’ said the small man. ‘My name’s O’Connor.’
‘And my name’s Comyn,’ said the judge.
They dealt a few poker hands and looked at them. Of course, they were not playing for moneys.
‘We need some way of counting who has won,’ said O’Connor.
‘I’ve got some matches,’ said Judge Comyn.
‘That’s what we need,’ said O’Connor. The judge counted out twenty matchsticks each.
It is difficult to play poker with only two players. After a time, O’Connor asked the priest, ‘Father, would you like to play with us?’
‘Oh, no,’ said the red-faced priest with a laugh. ‘I don’t know how to play.’
‘It’s not a difficult game,’ said O’Connor. ‘You get five cards from the dealer at the beginning of each game. At the beginning, you can ask the dealer to change three of your cards, to try to make a better hand. If your hand is good, you bet on it. If your hand is bad, you fold — which means you put the cards down and don’t bet any more.’
‘Bet?’ asked the priest. ‘Do you mean play for money?’
‘Oh, no, Father,’ O’Connor smiled. ‘We’re only playing for matchsticks.’
‘But I don’t know what is a good hand and what is a bad one,’ said the priest.
‘I’ll write down the hands,’ said O’Connor. He took a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘Keep this paper on the table, so you’ll know what a hand is worth.’
‘Very well,’ said the priest. ‘I’ll play for matchsticks.’
For the first two games, the priest had bad hands. So he folded and watched the other two bet. The judge won four matchsticks. Then, on the third game, the priest’s face lit up.
‘Is this not good?’ asked the priest, showing three jacks and two kings.
The judge looked angry and put his cards on the table.
‘Yes, Father,’ said O’Connor quietly. ‘It’s a good hand, but you must not show us until we’ve finished betting.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said the priest.
They played for an hour. The judge won nearly all the matchsticks and was pleased with himself.
‘It’s not very interesting playing with matches,’ said O’Connor.
‘I’ve enjoyed the game,’ said the judge.
‘Perhaps we could make it more interesting,’ said O’Connor. ‘Why don’t we bet for a few shillings?’
‘If you like,’ said the judge. ‘But your luck is bad today.’
‘My luck must change,’ smiled O’Connor.
‘I cannot gamble,’ said the priest. ‘I cannot play for money. It’s a sin.’
The judge thought for a moment, then said, ‘Mr O’Connor, shall we lend the Father some money? If he loses, we shall not ask him to return the money. If he wins, he can pay it back.’
‘An excellent idea, O’Connor agreed.
‘No, no,’ said the priest. ‘I cannot play for money.’
‘But,’ said the judge, ‘if you win, you can give the money to charity.’
The priest thought for a moment or two. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m going to visit an orphanage and they need some money. Yes, I could play if the money is for charity.’
‘Excellent,’ said the judge. ‘Now, Mr O’Connor, how much shall we play for? How much is one matchstick worth?’ ‘Ten shillings,’ said O’Connor. The judge was surprised. Ten shillings was a lot of money.
They began to play again, but now the matchsticks were worth money. The priest was lucky and won matchsticks from both the judge and O’Connor. He paid back the money they had lent him in the beginning.
Shortly before the train reached Tralee, the judge got a very good hand — four queens. He bet ten pounds, then another ten. O’Connor folded. The priest was still in the game and bet all his money.
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ said the judge, turning over his cards. ‘I have four queens.’
‘What a pity,’ said the priest. ‘I was hoping to give the money to the orphans. Does your hand beat this?’
The priest turned over his hand — four kings.
‘I owe you fifty pounds,’ said the judge, writing out a cheque. ‘The bank will give you fifty pounds in cash for this cheque.’
‘And I owe you this,’ said O’Connor, handing over twelve one pound notes.
‘Bless you,’ said the priest. ‘The orphanage will be pleased to have so much money.’
The train arrived at Tralee.
Judge Comyn stayed the night at a hotel. He went to the courthouse before nine o’clock the next morning. His first two cases were simple and easy to decide. The third case was about gambling and cheating at cards.
‘Call Ronan O’Connor,’ shouted the clerk of the court.
Judge Comyn looked up and saw the man he had played cards with on the train. O’Connor looked back at the judge in amazement.
‘Are you guilty or not guilty?’ asked the judge.
‘Not guilty,’ said O’Connor.
A lawyer told the court the case against Mr O’Connor. On 13th May, Lurgan Keane, a grocer from Tralee, had travelled on the train from Dublin to Tralee. He had played poker with O’Connor and lost sixty two pounds. At Tralee railway station, Keane had called the police. He said that O’Connor had cheated him and the police arrested O’Connor. They found a special pack of cards in O’Connor’s pocket. The cards were cut and marked in a special way so that they could be used for cheating.
O’Connor did not want a lawyer to help him. He stood up and asked Lurgan Keane some questions.
‘Did I speak to you first on the train?’ he asked.
Lurgan Keane thought for a moment. ‘No, I spoke to you, because you were playing patience so badly.’
Judge Comyn put his hand over his eyes.
‘So,’ O’Connor went on, ‘you spoke to me first, and you also suggested playing poker for money.’
‘No,’ said Lurgan Keane, ‘you suggested playing poker.’
‘But for matchsticks,’ said O’Connor. ‘I suggested playing poker for matchsticks. It was you who suggested playing for money.’
Lurgan Keane thought again. ‘Yes, perhaps it was,’ he said. ‘But,’ he turned to Judge Comyn, ‘isn’t it a trick, sir? The cheat gets the other man to suggest playing for money.’
‘Money?’ O’Connor said loudly. ‘How much money did you pay me?’
‘Sixty-two pounds,’ said Keane angrily.
‘No,’ said O’Connor, ‘how much money did you pay me?’ Lurgan Keane thought carefully. ‘I didn’t pay you any money. I paid the farmer. It was the farmer who won.’
‘And did I win money from the farmer?’ asked O’Connor. ‘No,’ said Lurgan Keane. ‘You lost about eight pounds to the farmer.’
‘No more questions,’ said O’Connor.
The judge spoke to Lurgan Keane. ‘Who was the farmer?’
‘The other man in the train compartment, sir,’ said Lurgan Keane. ‘He was a bad poker player, but he had good luck.’
‘What was his name?’ asked the judge.
‘I don’t know,’ answered Keane. ‘He was a farmer from Wexford. He almost missed the train at Dublin. But it wasn’t him who cheated me. It was O’Connor. O’Connor had the cards. O’Connor was the cheat!’
The judge thought for a moment, then spoke. ‘We have been told that Mr O’Connor won money by cheating at cards. The police took a pack of cards from Mr O’Connor. Mr O’Connor told the police he found the pack of cards on the train. Also, we have heard that Mr O’Connor did not win money from Mr Keane. In fact, both men lost money to an unknown farmer from Wexford. The case against Mr O’Connor is not proved. I find Mr O’Connor not guilty.’
Everyone in the courtroom stood up as the judge left. It was time for lunch.
Judge Comyn went to his room at the back of the court house and took off his robe. He went out of the courthouse and crossed the road to the town’s main hotel.
Lurgan Keane was standing on the pavement staring at an expensive car that was leaving the hotel. Judge Comyn stood beside him and looked into the car.
O’Connor was driving. Beside him sat the priest who had played cards with the judge on the train. The priest waved to the judge.
‘Why is he dressed in those clothes?’ asked Lurgan Keane.
‘Because he’s a priest,’ answered the judge.
‘No he’s not,’ said Lurgan Keane. ‘He’s the farmer from Wexford.’
O’Connor was driving. Beside him sat the priest who had played cards with the judge.
