Jackpot Jack: A London Farce - страница 5

“Right,” said the businessman, his voice a low rumble.

Jack, feeling like he was finally getting through, pressed his advantage. “It's a foundation, isn't it? A solid foundation to build upon. Without that education, you're just… adrift, like a boat without a rudder. Going around in circles, ending up back where you started.”

The businessman kept listening but his thoughts were far away from Jack’s enthusiastic ramble. He was thinking about his granddad and the well-established business he had left behind. Then he thought about all those hours his father had been teaching him how to play poker at a very young age. All that practice, not without his dad encouraging him to drop out of school as soon as possible, made him not finish even the fifth grade.

Finally, as Jack paused for breath, the businessman spoke, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Education, eh? Funny thing, that. I suppose it’s good for some.” He then opened his briefcase, pulled out a fat cigar, and lit it with a gold lighter, the flame reflecting in his perfectly polished shoes.

He thought, “Education indeed, but what do you know, Jack… Some are just born lucky!”

Jack whose optimism grew as relentless as a dripping tap on a tin roof, skipped down the lane, his heart lighter than a feather pillow stuffed with dandelion seeds. Of course, he'd just encountered his soulmate! So, with the gusto of a town crier announcing a royal birth, Jack wished him “continued prosperity!” and continued his merry way towards the Chess Club.

The Chess Club, for Jack, wasn't about the chess. Oh no. He couldn't tell a rook from a rambler rose. It was the spectacle, the human drama, the sight of men contorting their faces into expressions of profound, yet ultimately pointless, concentration that truly tickled his fancy. Inside, the air hung thick with the odour of stale pipe tobacco and desperation, a blend as potent as a magician's potion. He spotted him then: the Old Man with the Trembles. His hands shook like leaves in a hurricane and his eyes darted about like frightened sparrows. His chess game was, to put it mildly, a disaster. Even Jack, whose strategic prowess peaked at remembering which end of a spoon to use, could see the man was playing with the skill of a badger attempting brain surgery.