There was a man in New Orleans before the war that supplied the steamboat men with silver to pay their deck-hands. He could buy it at a discount, as it was a drug on the money market at that time. I have often seen him with his two heavy leather bags, on his way from the bank to the boats. One day my partner (Charlie Bush) and I were in a saloon on Camp Street, when in walked the “silver man,” carrying his heavy leather bags. I gave Bush the wink, and began throwing the cards on the counter. The man got stuck looking at the game; and when Bush bet me $100 and won it, he got more interested and bet me the drinks, which I lost; then he bet me the cigars, and I lost again. I then said to him: “You can’t guess the winner for $500.” He said, “I will bet you $100 I can.” I told him I would not bet less than $500; then Bush said, “I will bet you,” and we put up the money, and Bush won it. Old “silver” got excited when he saw Bush pocket the $500, and I said to him, “I will bet you $1,000 against the silver in the two bags.” He knew there was not near $1,000 in the bags, so he jumped them up on the counter, and said, “It’s a go;” and then he stood close and watched me throw them, until I said “Ready;” then he made a grab, and turned over the wrong card. If he had been struck by lightning, he could not have acted more dazed. He dropped into a chair and lost all control of himself, and I felt a little sorry for him; but “business is business.” So I picked up the bags and started to go, when the fellow came to his senses and said: “Hold on; you did not win the bags.” I saw he had me on the bags; and as I knew he had them made for the business, I said to him: “If you get me something to put the money in, you can have the bags.” He jumped up and ran out; and when he returned with a meal-sack, he found the barkeeper and his two bags, but not Bush and me. We had bought some towels of the barkeeper, dumped the silver into them and lit out, for fear that the little old silver man would bring back a “cop” to hold us, in place of something to hold the silver. The little fellow was game, and did not say anything about his loss. The next time I met him he requested me to say nothing about the play; and every time we met we would take a drink, and laugh over the joke. The last time I met my silver friend he was crippled up with the rheumatism so he could hardly walk, and he was “dead broke.” I gave him $10 (for past favors), and I have not seen him since; and I expect he is now in his grave, for it has been many years ago since I won the silver, but not the bags.