Chapter IX: Confidence Games (2)

The most money making feature of the scheme is worked by the aid of a “capper,” or confederate. One of these individuals saunters up to the case at a moment when he sees there a person whom he considers likely to prove a “soft mark.” The confederate and the intended victim look over the envelopes together listlessly, and the proprietor invites them each to draw one “just for fun.” The “capper” opens his envelope, and finding that he has drawn a blank remarks, “that is just my luck; I never drew a prize yet, and don’t believe that you have one in your whole outfit.” The proprietor professes much righteous indignation that his integrity should be thus assailed, and, to prove his good faith, he says: “I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ll make a special prize of one thousand dollars out of one of those numbers which you two gentlemen have just drawn and give you a chance to win it for five hundred dollars.” The “capper” laughs, and hands him the card which he has drawn, which is usually numbered “eleven.” The operator replaces it in the envelope and lets down the back of the show-case, in order to enter a special prize on his list. As he does so, he slips the envelope containing the ticket marked “eleven” into a little secret pocket, from which at the same time he draws another envelope holding a ticket marked “forty-four.” He then places this envelope, together with the one held by the “sucker,” in the box, in such a way that the edge of one of them rises a little above the rest. Both the “capper” and the greenhorn perceive this circumstance and the latter supposes it to have been the result of accident. The “capper” then draws the envelope whose corner is raised and the dupe takes the one next to it. The proprietor asks his confederate to advance his money. The latter replies that he has not more than fifteen or twenty dollars with him. “Well,” answers the operator, “put up that amount, and if you have drawn number eleven, I will pay you an amount equal to your stake.” The “capper” hands over his money, and on looking in his envelope finds that he has drawn a blank. Simulating deep chagrin, he curses his “luck.” The proprietor at this moment conveniently turns his head, and his confederate, snatching the envelope from the hand of the dupe, hastily raises the flap, pulls out a small portion of the ticket within, thus showing the tops of figure forty-four, which leads the greenhorn to believe that he has drawn the lucky eleven. This, in gamblers’ parlance, is called “giving a flash.” In ninety-nine cases out of every hundred, the cupidity of the “sucker” is aroused, and in the firm confidence that he has a “sure thing,” he pays over all the money which he has, in the hope of winning a like amount. Until the money has been paid, he is not permitted to examine his ticket. When, having paid his cash, with trembling hands he opens the envelope, he discovers that instead of the magic “eleven” he has drawn “forty-four,” having been misled by the resemblance between the upper ends of the figures “four” and “one,” shown him in the momentary glance which the “capper” gave him of the card. Of course, he is utterly without redress, and has to bear his loss with such degree of equanimity as he may be able to command.

Strange as it may appear, it is a fact that persons are found who are fools enough to be caught by this trick three times in succession. It is from the majority of such “suckers” as these that the proprietors reap a golden harvest. A man at Council Bluffs stood at the case and bought ticket after ticket until he had dropped six thousand dollars into the coffers of the scoundrels who were manipulating the device.

This game is most successfully worked by the aid of “ropers,”—by which term is meant confederates who allure, or “steer,” victims into the booth or room in which the trick is being operated. The devices resorted to by these “steerers” are numerous and ingenious. Sometimes the dupe is induced to visit the place by means of an offer to sell him a piece of cloth worth two dollars per yard for forty cents; sometimes he is shown a sample of choice tea, which he is told he can purchase at a ridiculously low price. When the greenhorn has been brought in front of the ticket case with the adjacent array of prizes, it is usually an easy matter to induce him to speculate. The “ropers” are paid a commission of forty-five per cent. on all winnings which are made from the men whom they bring in, and I have myself received commissions for this sort of work amounting to more than three hundred dollars in a single day.

MINOR CONFIDENCE GAMES.

Among the petty schemes to which professional sharpers have resort is one known as “betting on weight.” A single illustration, drawn from my own experience, may serve to show to the unsuspecting reader precisely the way in which this petty scheme is carried out.

The incident which I am about to relate happened at Hot Springs, Arkansas, where I had been playing poker—of course on the principles of the “skin” gamblers—in connection with a partner. We had succeeded in fleecing a “sucker” out of a considerable sum of money. He was moody over the loss of his cash, and we believed that he was disposed to be slightly suspicious. In order to disabuse his mind of any such idea, my partner accompanied him down the street, condoling with him as to his losses. My accomplice suggested to him that he might possibly “get even” with me by venturing a wager on some chance subject. “That man, Quinn,” he said, “is ready to bet on anything; he would even bet on spitting at a mark or the weight of a stone,” pointing to a rock which lay in the street. As though struck by a sudden inspiration, he suggested, “Suppose we weigh that rock and bet on a certainty. That is the only chance which we will ever have to get our money back.” The greenhorn assented, and the weight of the stone was carefully and accurately ascertained. The next morning, having been fully posted by my confederate, I walked down the street and met my partner and the dupe in company. After cordially greeting them, I asked if either of them wished to bet upon any chance whatever. After some little badinage, the “sucker” offered to bet as to the weight of the stone which he and my partner had caused to be carefully weighed the day previous. Of course I assented and the bet was made. Very much to our surprise the prospective victim had only $87 in his pocket, but this he cheerfully staked. The stone was weighed and my guess proved to be the exact weight of the rock. The reason was, that between the moment when my partner suggested the scheme to the dupe and the time the stone was weighed, we had caused to be chipped off a section, whose weight we knew exactly. The greenhorn, on this occasion, “kicked” violently and insisted upon having the stone reweighed. We found it convenient to have recourse to the scales of a Junk dealer who had been previously “fixed” for the occasion and who had officiated as “weigher” the night before. “Oh,” said the descendent of Abraham, “I din’d know vat you shentlemen’s means, I had as many as doo scales; von vat I buy mit and de odder as I sells py. I vays dit mid by separate times on each scale. Vat were you shentlemen’s want nohow?” This argument proved conclusive and the “sucker” submitted to the loss of his $87 without further protest.

THE GRANDMOTHER TRICK.

This is a very simple trick to play, after the operator has acquired the necessary degree of manual dexterity. Its success depends primarily upon sleight of hand, and secondarily upon the assistance of a confederate. In fact, the trick itself is so simple that gamblers who enjoy any standing in the “profession” rarely resort to it until they find themselves in a position where money is absolutely indispensable. Under such circumstances, blacklegs,—even those of a better class—never hesitate to resort to the grossest and most contemptible species of fraud. When one of these gentry sees that he has but one “sawbuck” remaining in his pocket, there is no device too contemptible for him to employ with a view of replenishing his pocket book.

The method of playing this trick is as follows: Two aces are selected and shown to the prospective victim. They are then placed together, the pack cut, and the two cards selected are placed upon the top of one of the piles. At this moment the confidence man—apparently by chance—turns his head. It is easy to invent a pretext. A coughing fit, a sneeze, a slight noise made by a confederate—any one of these, or a score of other excuses will afford the “capper,” (whose assistance is indispensable) an opportunity to perform his part of the scheme which will be explained below. Before the manipulator averts his eyes he says that “if they go in together they must come out together,” which is a self-evident proposition. At the moment when he turns his head the confederate raises one of the aces, and removing a number of cards from the other, turning, places them upon the remaining ace, puts the ace which he has withdrawn in the place of those which he has taken from the second pile. The “sucker” is now thoroughly satisfied that the two aces shown him cannot possibly “come in” to the pack “together.” The operator again turns around and picks up the two piles, leaving the one containing the removed ace upon the top. This latter card he conceals in his hand and commences to draw from the bottom of the pack, turning each card drawn face upward. Of course he knows the card lying directly next to the ace, which is in the middle of the pack. As soon as he sees this he is aware that the next card exposed will be that particular ace. He then repeats the remark, “if they go in together they must come out together,” and offers to bet that the card following this ace, which he shows, is its companion. Naturally, the greenhorn is firmly persuaded that this is impossible, and bets are made as to the happening of this contingency. Usually, the “capper” is exceedingly anxious to bet some trifling wager, perhaps the drinks or cigars. The sharper permits him to win and the same process is again repeated. This time the victim is induced to bet, the stakes being made considerably larger. When the bottom of the pack from which the confidence man has dealt is exposed, it is seen that the lower card is the other ace, the sharper having adroitly passed it from his hand to the bottom of the pack.

While this game is not well adapted to winning large sums, it is a very common thing for men operating it to take $10 or $20 from a dupe, and I have even known as much as $50 to be won through its manipulation.

A brace of blacklegs in San Francisco once swindled an innocent player out of what was to him a considerable sum of money through this means. The victim caused the arrest of the pair, and it is said that when they were brought before the magistrate for trial the court asked them to explain the manner in which the trick had been done, the sharpers having already pleaded guilty. One of them performed the trick for the edification of the court, after which the judge, turning to one of the swindlers, said: “Well, sir, I will give you one year;” and then, turning to the other, added: “I will give you six months. You may go in together, but I’ll show you that you won’t come out together.”

THE “SOAP GAME.”

This is a trick of confidence operators which often proves exceedingly successful in extracting money from the pockets of men who consider themselves fairly well versed in the knowledge of the world. The outfit is very simple, and by no means expensive. A number of small cakes of soap of no particular value are procured, or sometimes soap is bought in bars, which are cut into pieces of the desired size. A quantity of cheap pasteboard boxes, each having a drawer somewhat larger than is the piece of soap which it is to contain, are procured and soap placed inside of them. In order to work the game, a room—usually one opening off the street—is rented. The “soap man” takes his position on a raised platform, and when a crowd has gathered to see what is going on he takes out a cake of cleansing soap, _i.e._, a preparation for removing grease and similar substances from cloth. He proceeds to expatiate upon its merits, illustrating his remarks by experimental demonstration. If he is a good talker, and intersperses his remarks with a few interesting anecdotes, he succeeds in attracting and keeping the interest of his audience. When he has proceeded far enough in his remarks he informs his listeners that the manufacturers of this wonderful preparation are seeking to introduce it in a somewhat novel way; that they propose to place a given amount of currency in a certain number of boxes together with a cake of soap in each. These boxes, he says, will be thoroughly mixed and every purchaser will be allowed to select any three boxes (the price of which will be $1.00) from the entire number offered. To prove his sincerity and truthfulness he draws from his pocket several bills, of denominations ranging from $1.00 to $20.00, and announces that he will place them inside the boxes in the presence of the crowd. He takes the bills in his hand, one at a time, folds them up carefully, and apparently inserts them in the boxes. Each box, after the bank note has been placed in it, is dropped into a large leather sachel. When he has disposed of all the bills, he takes the sachel in both hands and shakes it, with a view to thoroughly mixing the boxes. He then opens it and offers to allow anyone present to select three boxes on the payment of one dollar. It is the easiest thing in the world to sell the soap, but no legitimate purchaser ever succeeds in obtaining more than a single dollar bill. The reason is that the vendor adroitly “palms” off the bills of larger denominations, substituting therefor dollar bills which he has previously rolled up and which he holds in his hand at the time that he apparently inserts the large bills into the boxes in the presence of the spectators. In other words, when the boxes have been dropped into the sachel and mixed none of them contain a note of a larger denomination than one dollar, the confidence man having still in his possession all of the large bills. When it is remembered that not more than one box in ten contains any money whatever, the chances of drawing a prize are readily seen to be exceedingly small. The buyers, however, believe that they have seen the large bills placed in the boxes before their eyes, and part with their money very readily. It may be easily seen that “cappers” are almost indispensable in this as in so many other confidence games. It is not necessary that any signal should pass between the confederates. The “capper” usually places his three boxes in his pocket as soon as he has purchased them. Some one in the crowd is always certain to ask him to open them. At first he objects, but finally yields to persuasion. He takes out three boxes from his pocket and one of them is always found to contain a large bill. The explanation of his apparent good luck is very simple. When he puts the three boxes in his pocket he had there another one, precisely similar in size and appearance, containing the bank note which he exhibits to the crowd. When he drew three boxes from his pocket, he took the one which he previously placed there together with two of those which he had taken from the bag.

THE FOOT RACE.

This is a confidence game which is one of the most direct outrages ever perpetrated upon an unsuspecting dupe. And yet, like most similar tricks, it can be successfully worked only when the proposed victim is ready to sacrifice his own integrity to his avarice.

Two foot racers act in concert with a third man, who personates the “backer” of one of them. The first racer gains the confidence of the man to be swindled, who must necessarily possess some means. He convinces him by actual ocular demonstration that he is a speedy runner, and one on whom it is safe to lay a wager. This done, confidence man number two makes his appearance, attired very much after the fashion of a tramp. He says that he is anxious to find some one with whom to run a race for money. Naturally, his appearance not being such as to inspire any faith in his ability as a pedestrian, a match is soon arranged with the fleet- footed runner. The newcomer puts up all the money which he has—perhaps some $30 or $40—together with his watch, and the race is run. The tramp is beaten “out of sight.” The latter, apparently considerably chagrined, says that he is glad that his “uncle” (or some other friend, whom he named), was not there, inasmuch as he would have wagered $20,000 upon him. He adds that the mysterious “uncle,” or friend, has a “barrel of money,” and would have been willing to have staked it all upon his success.

The winner of the race thereupon proposes that he bring his “uncle” there, and that another race be arranged, and it will be an easy thing to “beat” his friend out of a large sum of money, which may be divided between the pair. Of course, as the reader has probably already understood, the two racers are confederates. The proposed victim—the man who has been backing the first racer—falls in with the suggestion and urges the mysterious tramp to induce his friend to come. The second sharper, however, professes great reluctance to defraud his “uncle,” and says that he will go to the latter’s farm and go to work. His confederate and the dupe accompany him to the train, the former constantly urging him to consent to the proposed scheme. At the last moment, the simulated virtue of sharper number two vanishes, and he says that he will induce his “uncle” to come down and lay a wager upon his success, provided that his connection with the scheme shall be kept forever a secret.

In due time the tramp returns, accompanied by an individual to personate the moneyed man who is to put up the necessary stakes. Arrangements are made for the race, the bets are made, and at the termination of the contest it is discovered, much to the surprise of the victim who has been backing the winner of the first race that the tramp, who was on that occasion so easily defeated, has won without difficulty. The stakes are paid over to the winners, and the party of scoundrels at once take their departure.

Sometimes the swindlers find it necessary to place a long distance between themselves and their victims. The latter are tolerably certain to discover, without much reflection, the manner in which they have been defrauded, and they are apt to follow up the gang in company with officers of the law. I have known cases where confidence men who have successfully worked this scheme, have been compelled to disgorge the lion’s share of their ill-gotten gains.

“FLIM-FLAM.”

This is another of those bare-faced schemes of fraud which are daily perpetrated upon an unsuspecting public. The method of operation is extremely simple, and it may be that some of the readers of this volume may be able to discover, from the description here given, the manner in which a gross imposition has been practised upon them. The “flim-flam” operator appeals, not to the avarice but to the good nature of his victim.

The favorite localities for playing the trick are fairs, circuses and railroad trains, and—as in the case of a large number of confidence games—large sums are sometimes paid for the “privilege.” The innocent looking news agent or peanut boy is often an adept at practicing this sort of fraud. The accommodating individual whom you see outside of a circus tent, carrying a small valise, from which he produces tickets which he offers for sale is apt to be a “flim-flam” sharper, who pays a percentage of his gains to the proprietors in consideration of being allowed to carry on his practices with immunity.

The game is always worked in substantially the same way. To begin with, the train boy, after selecting his victim, (otherwise termed “mark,”) he approaches him with an offer to sell something—perhaps a book, perhaps candy, possibly fruit. It is of comparatively little consequence whether he buys or not. The next move of the sharper is to ask the proposed dupe to give him a bill of large denomination for several small ones, which he produces. Sometimes he introduces a quantity of small change. After counting the money into the stranger’s hands, the swindler begs him to count it back to him, in order that he may see that it is right. This done, the scoundrel “palms” one of the bills or pieces of money, _i.e._, secretes it in the palm of his hand, and turns over the cash (apparently intact) to the “sucker,” who, nine times out of ten, puts it into his pocket without looking at it. Men on circus grounds operate in the same way, though generally for larger amounts. Sometimes a bill is folded in the middle, so that each end may count for a separate note of the same value.