will not be able to. This is not something you learn from books, it’s something you use your heart and soul for.” The older man put his hand over his chest, pressing against the fine silk shirt. “I’ve seen too many men eaten up by the dream, gambling away their inheritance and leaving their families destitute. I shall not cut you off, not yet, but I urge you to reconsider this decision.”
“The decision is not yours to make. My transport leaves in three hours for New York City.” Jon tugged on the black gloves, almost ripping his hands through them in his rage. “I’ll send word to you and Mother to let you know I arrived safely.”
“A fool on a fool’s errand,” Daniel retorted. “If you won’t take our money to pay off this debt, at least promise your mother and I that you will take your allowance to live on, separate from this folly. I won’t have my son a derelict on the streets of America.”
And be a disgrace to the family. The words remained unsaid, but they hung in the air between the two men.
Jon pressed his lips together, feeling the painful truth in his gut. “I shall, but only to live on. I will not touch the amount laid aside for my task.” He clenched his right hand, lifting his fist to stare at it. “I cannot.”
“Go then.” The elder Handleston turned his back on his son. “When you tire of this silly game, drop me a wire. I’ll find you a respectable job and a good wife.”
Jon snapped back to the present, noticing the odd stare Mrs. McGuire was giving him, her eyes wide with fear. He followed the path of her gaze down to his plate. The knife lay imbedded in the chicken bone, wedged in deep between shattered and splintered bones. “My apologies, ma’am. I tend to wander mentally at times. The war and all.” He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought.
“Understandable. Again, I apologize for any bad memories I have stirred up. I hope I have not offended.” She cleared her throat. “I shall expect you for breakfast, then?” Getting to her feet, she began collecting the dishes, snatching the broken bones from under his reach.
Jon folded his napkin and placed it on the table. He stood, stepping back from the table as she continued gathering the remains of dinner. “Most assuredly. And please, do not fret. You speak your mind, and I find that most refreshing. I’ll be stepping out for a few hours before retiring for the evening.” He bowed slightly at the hip, a playful grin on his face that he hoped would cheer the woman up. Thankfully, it did, as Mrs. McGuire blushed and nodded her own farewells.
Jon stepped out of the rooming house, taking a first hesitant sniff of the outside air. The door swung shut behind him as he took another deeper breath, pulling in the damp evening air. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before. Or perhaps he was getting used to it. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
The sun had begun to set over the town, the light red beams struggling to break through the ever-present smog layers to announce its departure. Around him, people trotted along the wooden sidewalks, hustling by him in small groups of chattering women or mumbling men, a few brave couples sauntering along, arm in arm.
The shops were starting to close, the shutters drawn over windows stained dark with soot, the shopkeepers shooing out the last few reluctant customers. The gas lamps were being lit by a short, fat man who seemed to be moving slower than molasses, if that were possible. Or, Jon mused as he strolled along the sidewalk, maybe he was moving at regular speed and everyone else in Prosperity Ridge just ran faster.
Either way, he wasn’t going to stay in his room all night. He had a few hours to spare before sleep and there were always casual pick-up games that needed another player. There were only so many hands one could play by oneself, so to speak.
Almost instinctively he headed towards the tournament saloon, navigating as best he could from his
“The decision is not yours to make. My transport leaves in three hours for New York City.” Jon tugged on the black gloves, almost ripping his hands through them in his rage. “I’ll send word to you and Mother to let you know I arrived safely.”
“A fool on a fool’s errand,” Daniel retorted. “If you won’t take our money to pay off this debt, at least promise your mother and I that you will take your allowance to live on, separate from this folly. I won’t have my son a derelict on the streets of America.”
And be a disgrace to the family. The words remained unsaid, but they hung in the air between the two men.
Jon pressed his lips together, feeling the painful truth in his gut. “I shall, but only to live on. I will not touch the amount laid aside for my task.” He clenched his right hand, lifting his fist to stare at it. “I cannot.”
“Go then.” The elder Handleston turned his back on his son. “When you tire of this silly game, drop me a wire. I’ll find you a respectable job and a good wife.”
Jon snapped back to the present, noticing the odd stare Mrs. McGuire was giving him, her eyes wide with fear. He followed the path of her gaze down to his plate. The knife lay imbedded in the chicken bone, wedged in deep between shattered and splintered bones. “My apologies, ma’am. I tend to wander mentally at times. The war and all.” He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought.
“Understandable. Again, I apologize for any bad memories I have stirred up. I hope I have not offended.” She cleared her throat. “I shall expect you for breakfast, then?” Getting to her feet, she began collecting the dishes, snatching the broken bones from under his reach.
Jon folded his napkin and placed it on the table. He stood, stepping back from the table as she continued gathering the remains of dinner. “Most assuredly. And please, do not fret. You speak your mind, and I find that most refreshing. I’ll be stepping out for a few hours before retiring for the evening.” He bowed slightly at the hip, a playful grin on his face that he hoped would cheer the woman up. Thankfully, it did, as Mrs. McGuire blushed and nodded her own farewells.
Jon stepped out of the rooming house, taking a first hesitant sniff of the outside air. The door swung shut behind him as he took another deeper breath, pulling in the damp evening air. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before. Or perhaps he was getting used to it. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
The sun had begun to set over the town, the light red beams struggling to break through the ever-present smog layers to announce its departure. Around him, people trotted along the wooden sidewalks, hustling by him in small groups of chattering women or mumbling men, a few brave couples sauntering along, arm in arm.
The shops were starting to close, the shutters drawn over windows stained dark with soot, the shopkeepers shooing out the last few reluctant customers. The gas lamps were being lit by a short, fat man who seemed to be moving slower than molasses, if that were possible. Or, Jon mused as he strolled along the sidewalk, maybe he was moving at regular speed and everyone else in Prosperity Ridge just ran faster.
Either way, he wasn’t going to stay in his room all night. He had a few hours to spare before sleep and there were always casual pick-up games that needed another player. There were only so many hands one could play by oneself, so to speak.
Almost instinctively he headed towards the tournament saloon, navigating as best he could from his
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