Poker Friends

"No, I am not popular any more with the gang," moaned a business man who used to entertain largely at poker. "I haven't touched a card in seven years. The friends I made at the poker table were near and dear to me. When I lived on the seventh floor of a tenement, they flocked to see me nightly, climbing the stairs without a murmur. When I moved to the Bronx, they followed me. When I settled in Jamaica, the ride to my house did not seem too long for them, nor did they mind the journey home at 3 or 4 in the morning. When I realized that I was supporting them with my losses, I tore up the cards and cracked the chips with a hammer. When, lo, behold, every mother's son of them knew me no more! I lived so far away that it was impossible to find time to come to visit me. I am sure that if I had opened a poker game in the darkest cell in the bottom of the bottomless pit they would have come to play with me. To regain their friendship it is only necessary to announce a reopening of the game." -- New York Press.