I quit working at midnight, and to get to my boarding
house had to walk a mile through a portion of the town called "Hell's
half-acre."
The most prominent place of any description in the city was a saloon and
gambling house known as the "Blue Goose," owned by John Waring and Luke
Ravel. Both men were as nervy as they make 'em and several nicks in the
butts of their revolvers testified mutely as to their prowess. Their
place was like all other dens, and consisted of the usual bar and lunch
counter in one room, while in the adjoining one was the hall of gaming.
Faro, roulette, hazard, monte, and the great national game, poker, held
high carnival there nightly. Next to the "Goose" was a long narrow room
used as a shooting gallery. The place was only a few doors around the
corner from my office, and many a night on my way home I would stop at
the lunch counter and have a sandwich and a cup of coffee. I remembered
my promise to bluff old Bill Bradley, and was never tempted to go in the
gambling hall. I generally used to rise about noon each day and go up
town and loaf until four o'clock, when it was time to go to work.
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