New York dispatch. [volume], June 06, 1886, Image 1

About New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899

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IWHED BY A. J. WILLIAMSON’S SONS.
VOL. XLE—NO. 34.
•Entered at fits Post Office at New York)
N. ¥»> as Second Class Matter.
WE m DBPATCH,
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«WM————
PLAYS AND PLAYERS.
LESTER WALLACK’S GRIEF.
! ’X’lie Meeting in tile Manager’s Office—An
Awful Secret Revealed—A Manager’s
Anguisli—Gilbert and Moss—The
Collie Dog’s Howl — Harry
Edwards’s Bug Dinner—
Lovecraft’s Story of
Edwards’s Poverty.
BY JOHN CARBOY.
It was a touching scene.
Ro more pathetic incident has been witnessed
upon the stage of Wallack’s Theatre in many a sea
■ son than this episode in the real life of a manager
which occured some ten days since in the pri
vate office of Wallack’s Theatre. In .this retreat,
sitting in an easy chair near the centre of the office,
was the veteran Lester Wallack, swaying to and fro,
pressing his handkerchief upon his eyes with both
hands and moaning and sobbing as if-* great and
unexpected grief had come upon him and swamped
his soul in misery.
And a great grief had come to him, and it was un
expected.
Seated at the double desk on one side was the
stalwart man of business, Theodore Moss, nervously
tapping the edge of the desk with an old penholder,
and gazing sadly upon the agony of bis stricken
manager. On the other side sat bolt-upright, the
venerable John Gilbert, his face wearing a sort of
cut-him-off-with-a-shilling expression, and his dear
old eyes staring stonily at nothing in particular. On
the threshold of the open door stood the young
Prince Arthur.
At the end of the desk, flopping the tears
from his great brown eyes, laid one of Arthur’s col
lie dogs.
THE SILENCE WAS BROKEN.
“ Oh, oh, oh, this is horrible!” he moaned through
his handkerchief, “to think that a member of my
company should bo compelled to seek . the aid of
public charity ! Why, gentlemen, you. Moss, and
you, GilbeJt, and you, Arthur, here, .know how
regularly he received his salary, and how punctual
ly he came for It?”
‘•Whether he earned it or not,” added Moss
grimly.
•• How could I know,” sobbed the manager, “ that
my poor Edwards was suffering the pangs of pov
erty; that day by day he was approaching that aw
ful condition when in a moment of despair he
would rush forth into the highways and proclaim
himself a pauper ? He, a member of my company,
starving, and until the last keeping it from Me. It
is I who am to blame. I should have doubled his
salary. There I was paying him a beggarly pittance
of $125 a week, thinking it was all-sufficient : to
support his dignity as one of the artists<of .the lead
ing theatre in America.”
“Don’t go on, governor. It will be all .right;
perhaps it is a canard started by some rival theatre
to make the public believe that business has been
so bad here that we haven’t paid salaries. Beside,
Lovecraft, has gone up to Edwards’s house
to ascertain the real facts concerning his destitu
tion. Don’t;take on, governor, don’t.”
At this moment a district messenger boy ap
-peared at the door with a message directed to Mr.
JMoss. The messenger boy having left,
MOSS OPENED THE ENVELOPE,
glanced at the message, and said, “ This envelope is
.directed to me bat.the message is evidently meant
lor.our dear Edwards.”
“Read it, read heaven’s sake read it!” ea.
jgerly Wallack.
Mr. Moss then read ..as follows :
To Edwards :
••We will cheerfully contribute to the burial of
sl2&-a-wsek actors, butcnota cent for the purpose of
keepingithem alive. Secretary Actors’ Fund.”
“That’s* corker,” grunted the venerable Gilbert.
THE DISTRESSED MANAGER
threw himself back in his easy chair and moaned
and sobbed .and soaked his lily white handkerchief
with the ovai’.Uow’ of lachrymal .fluid more piteously
than ever.
At this supreme moment the collie dog lifted up
his head, opened his ponderous jaws and gave a
prolonged and dismal howl which penetrated every
nook and corner of the theatre ; when it struck the
stage it frightened a carpenter so that he dropped
his chisel from his hand and the sharp edge of it
landed upon his foot and cut off a square inch of
his eldest buniou.
Phil Goatcher, who, at the moment the howl
came to his ears, was putting in his fine work upon
a palace drop for McCaull, started back so suddenly
on the paint bridge that he tumbled and inconti
nently dropped himself into a tub of white size.
That howl was so fearfully prolonged and pene
trating that it caused the passers-by on the pave
ment outside to pause and listen for its repltition,
thinking that it was the sound of some dirge being
rehearsed on the stage by McCaul’s companj.
Gilbert up in the office made a swoop at the dog
with bis cane and bruised his knuckels against the
side of the desk, while the animal looked up at him
sorrowfully and brushed a tear from its eye with a
wag of its ear.
PRINCE ARTHUR
stepped aside. The portieres of the door were
drawn apart, and pale and with trembling lips and
his glasses dimmed with moisture, Lovecraft con
froted the dismal group. The manager sprang from
his obair, dropped his lily white wipe, and with a
wierdly wild glare in his eyes, in a broken tone
exclaimed:
“Well, well, Lovecraft—is it true—is it true—
have you seen him ? is he—is he—really starving ?”
Lovecraft’s head drooped forward; with a painful
effort lie adjusted his glasses, and in a low and
trembling tone he answered :
“Yes, it is true, pity t’is, t’is true.”
“You went to his house?” queried Moss.
“I did,” answered Lovecraft. “I was ushered
into his magnificently furnished apartments and
conducted to his presence in the dining room. He
was seated at the table. 1 told him the purpose of
my visit in as delicate a manner as possible, and as
I did so I glanced at the contents of the plate which
formed the sum total of his meal, and all, in fact,
that there was on the table.
“ ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘you have caught me at last. Se
crecy is no longer possible. For weeks—yes. for
months—l have endeavored, for the sake of the
name of the company to which I am attached
ax?a that of Mr. Wallack and his theatre, to conceal
the misery, the want and poverty to which, through
the meagreness of my salary—and a beggarly pit
tance it is—i been brought. Think of it! an
eminent artist like me working season after season
for a miserable dole of $125 a week, even though
there was no one to support but myself. I have
endured it patiently and silently as long as I could.
I have even tried to make the dole grow larger by
depositing the greater portion of it in a iy zings
Lank. It is there, and I suppose it grow 4,
“ 'You ask me how I manage to live. Look on
this plate. You see there
“‘A COUPLE OF GRILLED TUMBLEBUGS,
“ ‘a toasted butterfly and the remains of a bumble
bee. There is but one more meal left in that mag
nificent cabinet of insects, of which I was so proud
and which I walued at ten thousand dollars. I have
gone through all the specimens of insect life which
I have been gathering for a score of years.
“ ‘Yesterday I breakfasted on a thousand-legged
worm, a Chinese roach and a couple of Egyptian
ants. The next, to-night, will be made up of
hornets, horseflies and South American'fleas. Thus
ft is that the glory of the naturalist and the mag
nificent collection of a score of years become the
prey of Poverty’s need, and after this, the last meal
to-night, there is no more food for me until the re
ceipts of the benefit I have projected are handed
over to me, and in that benefit may the public have
mercy on me!
“ • Had the collection of bugsand butterflies been
larger, the exposure of my -pitiful condition
might have been postponed for months. I can live
if it comes to the pinch ou one bug a day. I have
been liberal and generous to the needy ones of my
profession, and to all appeals of public charity in
permitting them free use of my name in big letters
on their benefit bills. I have always volunteered
my services freely and without charge to all who
needed them so long as they let everybody know
it. While I have always upheld the dignity of my
position as one of the most eminent English artists
upon the American stage, I have never so far for
gotten the courtesies that are due to my fellow
men—and that lam like them, merely human—as to
refuse their invitations io ijoin them in a drink so
long as it did not cause any outlay of capital on my
part.
•• • I have endeavored to-be just to all men—com
mencing with myself of course. Now my dear
Lovecraft, you see before you on this plate, and you
have heard from my lips the evidence which is
confirmation strong as proofs of Holy Writ, that I
am in the last stages of absolute want. By the
way will you act as one of the ushers at my
benefit ?’ ”
LOVECRAFT TOLD HIS STORY
slowly and with the air of a man whose memory
has a grip like that of a bull-dog upon his mind.
After a pause he added:
“I think gentlemen, that we had better let him
have the Star Theatre—for one night only.”
The collie dog arose, walked toward Lovecraft,
and sniffed at his heels, wagged its tail, turned,
raised its head, and winked its brown eye with a
wink that said as plainly as winks could say,
“Bugs.”
Wallack, whose eyes, in the excitement of listen
ing to Lovecraft’s mournful idyl of poverty’s work,
had become tearless, grasped Lovecraft by the hand
and said:
“Thank heaven, you -have saved me—saved the
company, saved the theatre from the stain which
this exposure would otherwise have placed upon all
of us. We will let him have the Star Theatre for a
benefit, and the benefit shalLbe published as a vol
untary testimonial of the publie to one of the no
blest and most gifted of the great artists which the
land of Shakespeare and Garrick has in its gener
osity permitted to honor our stage with his pres
ence. That’ll sugar-coat the whole thing.”
“And double hie salary next season,” suggested
Gilbert.
“And make him a present of a new cabinet of
bugs,” added Moss.
“And, governor,” said Prince Arthur, 1 * we might
issue a circular addressed to all parties who may
hereafter be getting up benefits or testimonials or
any performances in the eleemosynary line, advis
ing them of the propriety of always placing Mr.
Edwards’s name at the head of the committee of
arrangements and of availing themselves of his in
valuable services in insuring a general rush of the
public for seats.”
The collie dog arose, shook itself, uttered a bark
of approval, gave its tail a twist and calmly and
with dignified mien, walked out.
Wallack, with a smile of relief upon his face, and
Gilbert and Moss arose, simultaneously clasped
hands, and sang “Auld Lang Syne ” with the true
fervor and spirit of veterans who for so many years
have been like Athos, Porthos and D’Artagnan, “one
for all and all for one.”
As they were singing, Prince Arthur turned and
.slowly walked away, murmuring unto himself,
“Saved at Seven.”
So ends the stony of the rescue of Edwards from
the pangs of poverty by a benefit.
Excise Cases.
Thought the Officer a Workman—ln Doubt
About the Date of the License—An Of-
> ficer Dff Post—A Sunday Reception.
THOUGHT THE OFFICER A WORKMAN.
Rudolph Pender keeps a liquor saloon at No. 610
Grand street- Sunday, May 23d, Officer Schreiber
entered the place and saw there the proprietor,
asked him for a glass of lager, paid five cents for it
to the barkeeper, and drank it.
Cross-examined, he said he did not buy anything
from the proprietor. He saw a carpenter's tool
box, but no carpenters working. There was a cloth
over the bar, but the nozzle of the beer keg stuck
out. The proprietor was present when the bar
keeper sold the beer. He was in his shirt sleeves,
and so was his barkeeper. The proprietor stood
three feet from him when he got the beer. Didn’t
notice that they wore fixing the show windows.
Defendant said they were fixing up the place and
did not sell any beer on the 23d. The first he knew
of a violation of the law was when arrested. He
thought the beer was given for nothing, and that
the officer was one of the carpenters. There were
five carpenters at work there. Everything was
closed.
“How many people were in there?” asked the
Court.
“Five or six. Three or four were sitting at a
table,” replied the officer.
“What were they doing?” asked Justice Kil
breth.
“They had some beer before them.”
“What were they doing?”
“I don’t know; X saw a tool chest, but no work
being done.”
f The bar was closed with a sheet ?” remarked the
court.
“Yes, sir; closed in front.”
Discharged.
IN DOUBT ABOUT THE DATE OF THE LICENSE.
May 30th, Officer Smith entered the lager beer sa
loon of Bernard O’Grady, No. 2902 Second avenue.
“Is it licensed?” asked the Court.
“Yes, sir.”
“What hour of the day did you go there ?”
“6:30; entered by the side door.”
“What did you see ?”
“ The bar open and exposed.”
“Was O’Grady there? ’
“Yes, sir; he is proprietor.”
“What occurred?”
“ I made the arrest.”
“ How do you know the place is licensed?” asked
counsel.
“I saw the license hanging up.”
“ Was it for this year or last year ?”
“I couldn’t exactly say.”
Discharged.
AN OFFICER OFF POST.
Richard Goldgraber is clerk iu the hotel at Charl
ton and West streets. At three o’clock in the
morning, Officer Maguire entered and said he saw a
gentleman drinking at the bar. He said to defend
. ant, “What have you get there?” He replied,
right,” took the money from a stranger and put it
in the till, and didn’t say to him, “Paddy, will ye
taste?” The officer took up the empty glass and
finished it. He said it looked like gin.
Counsel asked him if he didn’t go off post to
make the arrest. He would not answer. His post
was West street. The door he entered by was fifty
feet on Charlton street, the post of another man.
He considered he was not going off post, going this
i fi'.ty feet on another officer’s post, to get in the
saloon.
•• You are in the habit of going in this hotel lay
ing off smoking and drinking, as a dead-nead ?”
said counsel.
“ No, sir,” he replied faintly.
“ Did you tell Mr. Walsh he (complainant) was a
Dutch sucker, and if he didn’t stop talking about
your getting tree liquor, free midnight lunch, free
cigars, and an easy chair to put in time on in his
sitting-room, you would get square with him. That
' he musn’t interfere with you ?” said counsel.
“ No,” replied the officer.
Did yon drink anything to-day ?” asked coun
sel. There was a long pause and counsel said lie
needn’t answer the question and it was withdrawn.
The delendaut said there were forty rooms in the
NEW JUNE 6. 1888.
house; he kept the register. That morning a watch
man on the docks came in and got a drink of water.
That tour the officer came in three or four times
and had drinks. He told him to stop it. The
officer was off post when ho came in on the Charlton
street entrance.
Citizen John Walsh said, the officer told him the
barkeeper had too much to say about him (Ma
guire), and if he (Goldgraber) did not interfere with
policemen it would be better for him. The de
fendant had said the police were no good. A man
was robbed on Maguire’s post on West street and
he wasn’t there. He, the barkeeper, should mind
his own business.
Acquitted.
A SUNDAY RECEPTION.
Peter Schmitzin has just moved into No> 881
Third avenue. Officer McCullough said he entered
by the side door, on Sunday, and found defendant
behind the bar. Eight or ten persons were iu the
place. Some were playing pool at the rear of the
bar at the two pool tables. The defendant had just
moved in from above the avenue.
Defendant said he had just moved in; wrs not
doing any business; had sold nothing; in fact, he
had not then got his ice box in the saloon. The
painters, who were at work on the place, came in to
see how it looked.
A few old friends came in to see what sort of a place
the new one was. The men at the pool tables were
foolishly throwing the balls around with their
hands.
“You knew the officer?” said counsel.
“Yes, sir,” replied defendant.
“ You were not in a condition to sell ?”
“No, sir.”
A number of the visiting friends of defendant
said the place was not open to the public that day.
Fined SSO.
CLUBGAMESTERS.
How Fortunes Change Hands
Without Police Interference.
SOME GREAT POKER GAMES.
The Experience of the Man who
Won $60,000.
UNION CLUB SCANDALS.
Card-Room Brawls that Bring the
Maulers No Honor.
GAMING IN THE DUDE CLUBS.
A Baccarat Swindler who Made a Clean
Sweep of It.
A. CL'T-TIinoAT GA-ME.
At the Union League Club the other evening a
discussion started in the billiard-room, among
some of the younger member®, out of a bet upon a
fancy shot by an expert player.
“Now, what I want to know.” eaid the winner,
as he pocketed his prize, “is this: Why can I play
billiards here and bet on my game and bet on other
men’s games, and not play a single game of cards
for nothing, if I want to ?”
This conundrum secured no answer, and the
question was referred to one of the older members,
who just then lounged in. He replied with Bunsbian
solemnity:
“You can’t play cards in the club, my boy, be
cause there’s a rule against it.”
“But why is there a rule against <cards and not
against billiards ?”
“ Because,” responded the old member, gravely,
“ cards are not billiards, don’t you know.”
The sledge-hammer irresistibility of this logic so
completely overpowered the young men that they
put up their cues, washed their hands, and went
off to a convenient hotel to hire a room for a friend
ly game of poker.
GAMBLING ON THE SLY.
This conversation illustrates quite a eurious
state of affairs in the Union League and several
other of our clubs. When they were founded, these
organizations included in their rules one against
games at cards. They had the example of various
clubs In London and New York in which card play
ing had grown from a mere pastime to a destroying
evil, and they resolved to guard against it from the
start. There was online way to keep the fiend
out, and that was to banish his breviary complete
; ly. To this day it would be worth the steward’s
place to have a pack oj cards found inside.
But there are billiard rooms in .every club, and
the science and calculation that are denied a vent
at cards find exercise with the cues and balls.
There is always betting on the games, quiet and
discreet, it is true, hut still betting. The sums that
can be lost at cards are not imperiled over this
green cloth, but wagers of $5 are constant, and
those of from $lO to SIOO a game common enough.
When a game is played between crack players there
is always much excitement and a eoad deal of
money changes hands. When things are dull such
games are often brought about for the purpose of
gratifying the yearning of the clubmen to back
their opinions with cash, At the Union League
even this form of gaming is decidedly against the
rules formulated by the politicians and patriots
who founded the club, but somehow it has come to
be winked at as long'as it is not paraded too shame
lessly. Now and then, when somebody bets in too
loud a voice, he is hauled before the House Com
mittee and given a moral lecture, but that is all.
The result of all this is that when an Union
Leaguer gets his appetite whetted for a real game
by a preliminary bout at billiards he gathers to.
gether a party of kindred spirits and they go off to
Delmonico’s, or some other convenient and com
plaisant resort, engage a private room, order a case
of wine on ice and gamble as much as they please.
As they are subject to no limits in betting, and are
in a manner eating forbidden fruit, they eat entirely
too much of it, of course. They wash it down with
too much champagne too, and with what they lose,
what they spend and what the rooms cost them are
always heavily out of pocket. Some of these games
beginning after dinner will last till far the next
day, and leave the players exhausted and buried
to their ankles in discarded cards.
PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES.
The two popular games at our clubs are poker
and baccarat. Poker is the pet game of the old
timers. It rules at the Union and the Manhattan
Clubs, which number on their rolls some of the
greatest card players in the country. Very high
play is indulged in at these clubs, but always in a
gentlemanly way. Occasionally a card scandal may
be heard of from the Union Club, but never from
the Manhattan. Next to poker in popularity at
these clubs ranks whist. It is also played for
money and quite considerable stakes are contested
for.
The Manhattan is celebrated as having been the
scene of the heaviest poker game ever played at any
city club. From this game—often an all-night
bout—a well-known politician and newspaper owner
rose with over $60,000 winnings. There were other
winners at the table, who would, altogether, bring
the losses at the game up to fully SIOO,OOO. The
game had begun in quite a matter-of-fact and com
monplace wav for $5 and then $lO limits. With its
progress the players warmed up to a perfect rage
for gambling, and being all rich men, they gave
their passion all the play it wanted.
The winner of this splendid stake is famous for
his skill at cards. He has made them an exact sci
ence, and in the club is the leading and incontro
vertible authority on the subject. All card disputes
are referred to and settled by him, He practically
spends his life at the card table, when he is not en
grossed in politics. In journalism he does litle but
dictate an editorial now and then. He drives from
his house to the club every day at about noon, and
stays there till some time next morning. It is an
old saying among his friends that when he dies his
burial service will have to be read off of a pack
of cards.
This veteran tells a good story about his famous
$60,000 game, and one that is full of human nature.
He received' his winnings from one player in a
check, and went down town to his office. When he
got there he found a note awaiting him. It was
from a friend, who had heard of his good luck, and
wanted him to lend him a few thousands. While he
was reading this note in came a boy with another
to the same purport. Before he had got the check
cashed, he had received half a dozen more. In self
d-efense he sent off and bought a passage on a
steamer that sailed next day, and got off to Europe
undei* the name of John Smith. He said he had his
anti liihpntat
choice between this inglorious flight and bank
ruptcy.
How the news of his winnings got abroad he
never knew, but it was literally common talk among
the rounders of the town before he left the club
house himself, and had reached his office in advance
of his own arrival.
UNION CLUB GAMESTERS.
At the Union Club the games are also very heavy.
The Union is, above all other clubs in New York,
one of rich men who have money to live on and
waste, and all their lives to do it in. As may be
imagined, these are not averse to killing time at
the card table and paying roundly for their fun.
Here, as at the Manhattan, there is a nominal limit
set to tbo amounts of money that can be wagered,
but this is only observed by extremely strait-laced
and timid members. Since so many card scandals
have got out about the Union, many super-scrupu
lous members now go away from the club to play,
so as to keep their doings secret. The Carlton Club,
which is run by John Chamberlain, is one of the
places to which they resort. Rooms at Delmonico’s
and other hotels arc also in call by them.
In one way or another, nearly every unsavory
story that gets out about the Union Club, can be
traced directly or indirectly to the card table. The
Turnbull and Loubat scandal, the greatest in its
character and results of any club sensation ever
known in this country, took its rise in a card table
row, in 1883.
Mr. Joseph F. Loubat was one of the wealthiest
men in the club. Mr. William F. Turnbull was a
man of no means, but who was married to a wealthy
wife. They had been friends. One evening they
were seated in the card-room of the club-house
playing cards with some friends. Matters of social
interest came up for discussion, and finally a lady’s
name was mentioned. Mr. Loubat made some re
mark about this lady which Mr. Turnbull did not
fancy. The latter insinuated that Mr. Loubat was
not as veracious as he might be, and finally the two
called each other names which were not pleasant
ones. Immediately after thi® scene, there were
rumors that Messrs. Loubat and Turnbull intended
to fight a duel, and it was said at one time that the
gentlemen Actually did meet, but without result.
The exchange at insults between Mr. Loubat and
Mr. Turnbull came to the attention of the club,
arnd at a meeting of its members it was decided to
allow the gentlemen the privilege of apologizing to
each other. Mr. Loubat refused to ask Mr. Turn
bull's forgiveness, and the club decided to expel
him. By a vote which, it is alleged was not of two
thirds of the members of the club, as required by
its by-laws, Mr. Loubat, who was one of the wealth
iest men in the club, was expelled.
He immediately took the case into the courts,
suing the Union Club and demanding a return of
his privileges. The lower court decided against
him, but last Tuesday, on appeal to the Supreme
Court, Judge Daniel handed down a decision that
as the vote on which Mr. Loubat was expelled was
not a two-third vote it was inoperative, and Mr.
Loubat was entitled to all the privileges of the club
till two-thirds of the members decided to deprive
him of them.
A curious side issue of this affair is that Mr. Turn- .
bull himself was long ago forced to resign from the
club. After his friends had succeeded in bouncing
Mr. Loubat, Mr. Loubat’s friends attacked Mr.
Turnbull with personal charges so abominably foul
that, having no defence, he was glad to escape ex
posure by dropping out of his connection with the
club. A few months ago his wife got a divorce from
him and he is now clerking it in a Government de
partment in Washington.
THE LOTOS’S POKER CHAMPION.
The Union men are harder drinkersand livers
than the Manhattan men, and it is not strange,
therefore, that we should hear of brawls and un
seemly wrangles from them that the discreeter
gamesters down the street avoid. Accusations of
cheating are by no means uncommon in the Union
games, and members are constantly being disci
plined for violation of the decencies at the card ta
bles. It only a couple of months since one o!
the oldest and best respected men in the club near
ly made himself a subject for expulsion by calling
a fellow gambler a swindler. The fellow was
a swindler. He had been caught palming
cards. But the committee held that his
victim had no right to make a row about it. It was
their business to report it to the authorities of the
club.
Across the way from the Union, in the Lotos Club
quite a pleasant little poker game can always be
found in progress after dark. The stakes are not
princely, and the players do not win or lose for
tunes. The game is very good humored and never
leads to scandals. But the Lotos is not a club of
very rich or very idle men. A good half of its
members are in only moderate circumstances. The
well-to-do ones, like the members of the Manhat
tan, all have businesses. They are brokers, lawyers,
and the like, consequently, they have other affairs
to distract their minds from cards, and when they
do play it is for pure pastime and in a friendly
spirit.
A.good many of the Lotos men are members of
the Union or Manhattan clubs, however, and do
their gambling there, so that if the club is virtuous
it is not wholly because it wants to be. What it
does not do in card playing it does at billiards. The
balls are always clicking in the basement and crack
players from the Union Club contest with their
hosts in games on which everyone bets with much
enthusiasm.
The most serious and expensive card players in
the Lotos go in for poker ; perhaps the heaviest
player among them is the proprietor and publisher
of a prosperous weekly paper, He is said to be the
best natured and most liberal man in the club, and
the most unlucky poker player. The result of this
happy combination is that he is by long odds the
most popular man in the club. The boys win his
money gayly and he loses it merrily. He pays all
his losses in checks, and on the rare occasions when
he wins readily takes an I. O. U. if the loser is short.
He is never downcast and is always ready to play.
Now and then, when the boys have got into him
very heavily, and their consciences commence to
smite them, they get even by inviting him to a din
ner which they pay for out of their winnings.
He always accepts and loses the cost of the dinner
at the game which follows, so that, in one way or
another, he contrives to keep the club continually
his debtor.
THE DUDE CLUB GAMBLERS.
Some very desperate play is indulged in in the
dude clubs, which include the New York and
Knickerbocker among several loss significant or
ganizations. In these poker is voted too dull, and
whist too o.d-fashioned. They go in for baccarat,
which is a pure gambling game with no science in
it to muddle their poor little brains. At the
Knickerbocker this game is followed quite desper
ately. A great deal of money is lost and won by the
petted children of fortune who make »p the club.
Only recently this club was the theatre of a most
terrific card.room scandal.
One of the members, a man well-known in so
ciety, took the bank at baccarat one night. He
gathered in ail his winnings in cash and paid all his
losses in checks. He cleared nearly every man in
the club out. Next night he went at it again and
so on for several nights. His winnings were vari
ously estimated at from $75,000 to SIOO,OOO. Then
he began to lose. He paid in checks as usual. Next
day when these were presented the bank stamped
them “no funds.” The perpetrator of the fraud
got off to Europe that day, with his winnings. He
is no longer a member of the club.
Hazard is another game that is becoming popular
in the dude clubs, chiefly because it is •• English
you know.” It is a cutthroat game with dice, and
is so bad a one to risk money on that it has been
out of fashion in England for years. There is no ex
cuse for playing it whatever, except a pure desire to
gamble for the sake of gambling. Yet the dudes
fancy they are scoring a red mark when they favor
it.
A great deal of trouble has been caused in our
best society, so called, by the gambling indulged
in by its scions. These youngsters, who never
dollar in their lives, make merciless drafts
upon th6 paternal purse. Many are so dishonor
able that they gamble freely ou credit, and refuse
to pay when they lose, Berry WMb oh6e
as the “ King of the Dudes,“ 15, wllaceVdr his ocher
weaknesses may be, an honorable young fellow.
While he was running through his fortune he won
considerable sums from fellow clubmen, who gave
him their notes. When he went broke he tried to
cash these. A few settled up. The majority, how
ever, took shelter behind the gaming act, under
which debts lost at play cannot be recovered by
law. Poor Wall, determined to be revenged if he
was swindled, commenced an action against one of
these aristocratic Welshers. The whole gang took
fright at the possibility of exposure, and com
menced to compromise. Wall got about fifty per
cent, of his money out of them.
CLUB GAMBLING IN GENERAL.
Although the stories that get into print about
club gambling are denounced by club
men as exaggerations, they are only so in theory.
The men who write them are not on the inside, and
do not always get at the real facts, but they by no
means overestimate the truth, which comes to
them in rumors and suggestions. As a matter of
fact, huge sums are being continually chanced in
club card-rooms, and there is more gambling going
on in them and among clubmen than takes place
when all our public gambling-houses are in lull
blast.
The games may not always actually take place in
the club-house. When a party is hot for play and
hankers after big stakes, it may and olten does ad
journ to some resort away from the club. But the
game is none the less a club game, and the credit or
scandal of it belongs to the club where it origin
ated. not the hired room it is played in.
“ I don’t play myself,” said an old club man to
the writer, “but I don’t object to play in the club.
On the contrary, if men can afford to lose money
and want to lose it, I don’t know where they have a
better right to do it than iu their clubs. But I
don’t like high play. It is not so bad in itself, but
mauy players drink heavily. This gives the sober
ones the advantage. Men filled with drink grow
restive under their losses. Then come quick words
—often blows. See this eye ?”
There was a faint purple stain under his right
eye.
** I got that last week separating two good fellows
who fell to fighting over a poker game. It kept me
in the house five days. Both the men came to me
on their knees next day and begged my pardon.
They are both good fellows, but had dined and
wined before they began to play. That is the trou
ble with cards at the clubs.”
At the writer’s club the only game permitted is
solitaire, and there are no scandals.
DEAD AGIINST HIM.
Overwhelmed by Circumstan
tial Evidence.
A Generous Act Assuming tlie
Form of Crime.
Involuntarily Made the Confed
erate of a Burglar.
Only Released From a Convict's Fate
by a Death-Bed Confession.
Captain Storwell was a retired naval officer, re
siding near Bowness, in Westmereland, England.
His dwelling was a long, one story building, com
posed of what seemed to be half a dozen curious
cottages placed together, lying in a small and beau
tiful park, whose turf was washed by the waters of
Lake Windermere. The captain was an old bachelor
with many peculiarities. He kept only a cook, a
chambermaid and a gardener, the latter being an
old sailor with a wooden leg. The rooms which
Captain Storwell inhabited were fitted up like the
cabin of a man-of-war, and in the garden near the
dwelling was a ship's bell, which it was the duty of
the gardener to ring every day, beginning at six
o’clock in the morning, when he struck six bells.
For many years it was the custom of the captain
to attend church every Sunday morning, but an
incident occurred which caused him to stop this
custom for some time.
THE CURATE OF BOWNESS.
In June, 1836, there came to the parish a slender,
cadaverous-looking curate of about thirty. His
clothes were shabby, though his bearing was that
of a man accustomed to good society. The captain
befriended him and did all in bis power to make his
position comfortable. He frequently invited Mr.
Jeffreys, the curate, to his house, and gave him a
good dinner with the best of wine. This went
on for some time, until the Christmas of 1837,
On the afternoon of that day, Mr. Jeffreys was at
the captain's house by invitation, and some four or
five other gentlemen were there. Mr. Jeffreys
spilled some punch on his coat, and, after he had
wiped it off with a napkin, Captain Storwell bade
hfm go into his dressing-room, on the other side of
the hall, and wash his hands. The dressing-room
lay next to the captain’s sleeping apartment, and
was of course connected with it by a door. There
was also a door from the hallway into each of the
two rooms. Mr, Jeffreys entered the dressing-room
from the hallway, and closed the door. As he was a
long time in returning, the captain went into the
hall and called his name, whereupon he emerged
from the captain's bed-room.
THE MISSING WATCH.
*'Why, what wero you doing in there ?" the cap
tain asked.
‘•The truth is,” was the reply, «* that I put out
the candle with the towel, by accident, and, in fum
bling for the door, opened that which led into an
other room. Then, seeing a light shining under
neath the door, I went toward it, and here I am.”
The next day Captain Storwell found that an old
fashioned gold watch, which he valued much, was
missing from the mantelpiece in his bed-room.
Some Ifow or other the idea at once seized him that
Mr. Jeffreys had been rummaging in his bed-room
the night before and had purloined the watch.
The captain started at once for the curate’s cot
tage, which was half a mile away. As he entered
the little garden he saw the curate sitting with his
back toward him on a three-legged stool, in the
middle of the grass plot, intently examining some
thing. The captain walked noiselessly on the grass
and looked over the curate’s shoulder.
Could he believe his eyes ? The curate held in
his hand the missing watch, which he was scrutin
izing with apparent interest.
The captain could not contain his wrath. Seizing
the curate by the back of the neck, he exclaimed :
“You scoundrel, where did you get that watch?
You stole it out of my bedroom last night, you
miserable hypocrite. You shall be punished for the
theft if I live out the day. A pretty preacher of the
gospel you are, to stand up on Christmas morning,
and put on a long face, and, in a pious voice, say to
the people, ‘Thou shalt not steal,’ and then go and
rob your friend in the most barefaced and audacious
manner.”
THE CURATE’S EXPLANATION.
When the curate was able to speak, he solemnly
assured tne captain that he was no thief, and added
that, if the watch was his, he was welcome to it.
“Yes, I dare say.” was the captain’s response,
“after you’re found out you’»e anxious to make
restitution and save yourself from jail. But let me
tell you, Mr. Curate, this won t do. I will have
you arrested as a thief and punished as you de
serve.”
“Won’t you listen to me?” the curate asked,
“lam no thief, as you will soon learn if you will
but listen to what I have to say in explanation.
This morning, early, as my custom is, I was taking
a walk over the hills, when I was overtaken by a
young man in sailor garb. He bade me good-morn
ing, and passed on. Then he turned, and waiting
until I came up to him, said :
•• •! am on my way to Liverpool to find a ship. I
have just buried my father, and lam penniless. I
have here, however, a gold watch, which was all the
property my father possessed, and which he gave
to me just before he died. Will you buy it from
me.” Then
“HE PRODUCED THIS WATCH.
“ I liked the looks of the young fellow, and I said
if he was really in need I would give him a few shil
lings to help him along. He declined a gift, and
insisted that the only way in which I could help
him was by buying the watch.
“ I said I could not think of doing so. Then he
begged me to take the watch and lend him some
money, adding that when he returned from his
voyage he would be coming this way again and
would call upon me and redeem the pledge. I hes
itated. I liked the youth’s appearance, and it
struck me that it would be pleasant to have him
drop in upon me at some unexpected time and re
deem his promise, and relate to me all the adven
tures through which he had passed. So I lent him
half a sovereign and took the watch. I then point
ed out to him the cottage where I live, and having
wished him good-speed, he went on his way.”
'* This is a very nice invention,” said the cap
tain, “but it won’t pass muster. Give me that
watch, sir. I will immediately procure a warrant
for your arrest.”
With that the captain seized the watch which the
curate held out to him and departed.
In two minutes, however, he returned, saying:
“I have changed my mind. I'will say nothing
about this to a soul. But beware how you behave
yourself, for I shall watch you; and, hark ye, sir!
never put your foot on my threshold. I will order
the porter never to admit you.”
So he departed, aud after that was seen no more
at church.
A NARRATIVE ALMOST INCREDIBLE.
The remarkable story which follows will be told,
without any attempt at mystification, in the order
which the events happened.
On September 17, 1838, as the curate was sitting
in his study in the cottage, about seven o’clock in
the evening, a neighbor came in to say that her
daughter was sick, and she asked the curate for a
dose of black draught; for it was his custom to
keep by him a few simple remedies with which he
occasionally relieved the ailments of his humble
parishioners. The woman was not particularly
bright, and so the curate said he would himself go
and administer the medicine. He did so, and, as
he was returning in the clear twilight, he met two
men. They were in the dress of seafaring men, and
the curate immediately recognized one of them as
the young sailor from whom ha had taken the watch
which had caused the rupture with Captain Stor
well.
The curate got a very distinct view of the young
man and was thoroughly satisfied that he was the
person. After going on a little way, he saw the two
men turn into the woods which lay to the rear of
the captain’s dwelling. For a minute or so he was
in doubt as to what he should do. Then he resolved
that he would let the matter rest, and went back to
bis cottage. His mind, however, was ill at rest.
Here was a chance to clear himself from the shame
ful charge made agaiust him by Captain Storwell,
and ought he not to do all that was in his power to
accomplish such an eud ?
AN UNFORTUNATE VENTURE.
At last about nine o’clock he resolved to go to
Captain Storwell’s house and inform him of the
presence of the young men in the neighborhood.
He started on his errand; but, remembering that the
captain had given directions to the porter at the
lodge gate never to admit him, he turned up by
the side of the park wall and, reaching a spot where
the wall was very low, climbed over it and went to
ward the house.
For some time, in fact ever since the stealing of
his watch, the captain bad been in the habit every
night of opening his strong box in his bed-room
and seeing that all his valuables were safely de
posited there before he retired. Occasionally, when
he was suffering from gout, he had Samuel, the
gardener, examine the box iu his presence. On the
evening of September 17,1838, the captain was busy
examining the contents of his box, when the
gardener came in a great hurry and said that a
favorite dog had been poisoned and was dying. The
captain instantly quitted the chamber and went to
the yard with the gardener to attend to the dog
which was in convulsions.
OFFICE, NO. 11 FRANKFORT BT.
A PLOT.
The dog had, in fact, been poisoned designedly
by the gardener. The young sailor, already known
to the reader, was the son oi the gardener, although
the existence of such a personage was unknown to
the captain. Surreptitiously, however, the young
man had on several occasions visited his father and
had on the Christmas day, already referred to,
stolen the watch from the captain’s bed-room.
On the evening of September 17, be had again
visited his father with a companion, and then a
scheme had been concocted, long contemplated by
the gardener, to rob Captain Storwell to some pur
pose. The dog was poisoned with the design of
drawing away the captain from his bed-room just
at the time when he had his strong box opened and
its contents could be readily reached. The place in
the box where the captain kept a bag of sovereigns,
had been carefully noted by the gardener, who in
formed his son just where he could lay his hands
upon it.
AN ASTOUNDING INCIDENT.
As soon as Captain Storwell had quitted his room
the gardener’s son entered stealthily. He went to
the window and opened it, and seeing his compan
ion waiting outside, bade him in a whisper be ready
to receive what he should hand to him and then
depart at once over the park wall to a place agreed
upon, whither he would follow him.
The young sailer went to the strong box, found
the heavy bag of money without difficulty, and
hastened to the window to hand it out to his con
federate.
At this juncture the curate approached the house
from the side at which the captain’s bed-room was.
The confederate at the window, seeing some one
approach, ran off as fast as his legs would carry
him. The curate, wondering what it could mean,
approached the window. At that moment a man
thrust his head out of the window, held out some
thing and said:
“ Here it is. Be quick.”
The curate mechanically held out his hands and
received into them a heavy bag of what seemed to
him to be money. Instantly alarmed, he turned
toward the porch of the house. The man sprang
from the window upon the grass and ran off across
the park.
A DREAD THAT UNMANNED HIM.
The curate was a most astonished man. The bag
was filled with money beyond doubt, and evidently
a theft had been committed. Suppose he were
found with the money in his possession, what
would the captain think? Undoubtedly that he
was the thief, and that he had a second time perpe
trated a shameful robbery upon him. The man's
courage failed him. He durst not face the captain
and boldly tell him what had happened, for be felt
certain the captain would not believe him. but
cause bis arrest and perhaps secure conviction and
a shameful sentence.
The curate resolved not to run any such risk, and
quickly crossing the park, climbed the wall and
passed into the road by the way he had come. As
he was going toward his cottage, be heard some one
approaching from behind, and instinctively tried to
conceal the bag under his coat, at the same time
quickening his pace. Before be reached the cot
tage, however, he was overtaken and saluted by the
sexton, who was coming to consult him about a
funeral which was to take place the next day. Con
cealing the bag as well as he could, he entered the
cottage, the sexton remarking tbat he seemed to
have something heavy under bis coat.
THE CURATE’S FATE.
The captain being put out about his dog, which
died, closed up bis box without examining it, and
went to bed. Next night, however, he missed the
money, and there was a terrible to-do. There was
no clew to the thief, and the captain was almost
frantic.
The next morning the captain went to the sexton,
who was also the village constable, and related
what had happened. Tne sexton was at first silent
and thoughtful, but at last with many apologies
and much unnecessary hesitancy related how he
had overtaken the curate on the previous night
returning from the direction of the park, with
something that seemed very heavy under his coat.
The captain grew almost wild with rage and ex
claimed:
•• He is the thief! He stole my gold watch and
now he has robbed me of my money.”
Away went Captain Storwell with the sexton to
the nearest magistrate and got a search warrant.
Armed with this, they visited the curate’s cottage.
He was out, but without any ceremony they
searched the place. In an old leathern hat box they
found the missing bag of sovereigns.
When the curate returned he was arrested on a
charge of burglary. The story which he related to
the magistrate before whom he was taken was not
believed, and he was committed for trial. He was
indicted by the grand inquest and tried at the
November assizes in Kendal. All the facts herein
stated were brought to light, with the exception of
those relating to the gardener and his son and his
companion. The curate was convicted and sen
fenced to transportation for twenty years.
The trial created more interest than any which
had ever been had in the county of Westmoreland,
and the story was in everybody’s mouth. As was
quite common in these days, the proceedings were
printed in pamphlet form and widely distributed.
A CONFESSION.
Five years later, Samuel Oates, the gardener, was
seized with his last sickness and on his deathbed
confessed that he and his son had been joined in
the stealing of the watch and then in the robbery of
the strong box. His son, he said, had told him the
same night of the miscarriage of their plot to en
rich themselves at the captain's expense, and had
then separated, whither he never knew. The pois
oning of the dog was planned, the gardener said,
by himself, and his son received from him all the
information needful to enable him to get away
with the bag of money.
Captain Storwell immediately used all the means
in his power to secure a pardon for Mr. Jeffreys. It
was ultimately granted, and the unfortunate curate
was appointed to a good living in a northern town.
The newspapers at the time contained an account
of the kind treatment he received in Sidney after
he was released from confinement, and also com
mented on the fact tbat Captain Storwell had done
all that a man could to compensate for the injustice
which the curate-had suffered.
The Sunday law.
SARAH'S TWO CHAIRS.
Captain Tony Allaire is getting old, and now be
gins to think that the Sabbath should be observed.
The lager beer men make an outside show of ob
serving the day, and that is perhaps all that the
law requires. But the Jewish part of his constitu
ents, who have no respect for the first day, he
means to them understand that the Fourth
Commandment must be recognized outwardly at
least.
Sunday, May 23, the captain sent Officer Sands
out to survey the land in Hester street.
Sands found furniture out on the sidewalk at No
77. There was a bedstead and a bureau. The officer
stood by the bedstead and wagged hte index finger.
Out came Sarah Bernstein, and began to extol the
beauty, and how •* sheap the boora was.” He cwt
her short by telling her to come along with him to
the station-house.
Sarah’s daughter said there vas only two cheers
at the door, the one was for her, the other for her
mother to get the fresh air.
•• How about the mattress ?” asked the Court.
Sarah Jr., only gave her shoulders a shrug.
“ Discharged,” said the court.
FOR FRESH AIR.
Jacob Damoski, had dry-goods out exposed for
sale, and people were inside shopping. So said
Sands.
Jacob said his children were sick, and he hung
the goods out to let the fresh air get into the young*
sterfh
“Who were these people in the place ?” asked the
Court.
“ Only a poy cleaning up,” said Jacob.
“Five dollars,” said the Court.
NOT HIS PRIVILEGE.
Sam Rosenwiz, No. 50, admitted trading on Sun
day, but thought it was his privilege. He kept the
seventh day, the Sabbath.
Five dollars fine.
KEPT THE SABBATH HOLY.
Esther Linsky had her ladies’ and gents’ furnish
ings hanging out on the sidewalk beyond the stoop
line. Husband and wife were in the store; she as
sumed to be the “ boss.” and hence Sands arrested
her.
Defendant said she was not in the habit of sell
ing. She kept the Sabbath holy.
“Five dollars fine.
HONEST ABE.
Abraham Kamff had his goods on the sidewalk,
and was seen to sell by the officer.
“I am an honest man,” said Abraham.
“That isn't disputed,’ l said the Court. “Five
dollars.”
NOTHING TO SAY.
Morris Dombosky also had his wares exposed to
view and his shop open.
“Well,” was all the Court said.
“ I have nothing to say,” said Morris.
“Five dollars,” said the Court.
Bound to Succeed.—An officer of the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children,
found a boy twelve years of age, at eleven o'clock in
the forenoon, in Ludlow street, selling matches.
He followed him to the Bowery and saw him try to
sell his wares in several saloons. When he took the
boy in charge the boy said his father, Bernett Mil
ler, lived at No. 18 Allen street. The officer saw the
father, who admitted that he had sent his boy out
peddling.
The accused, through the interpreter, denied
making the admission. He couldn’t speak English,
and the officer couldn’t speak German. The officer
gave him a paper and told him to come to court and
get bis son.
He was found guilty and fined twenty-five dollars.
Although but three years in the country, and un
able to speak English, Miller Is already in business,
tailoring, fixing chairs, selling coal and nick-nacks.
He means to succeed and make his children help
him.
'" cents.
THE PLAY.
BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
In the rosy light of roy day’s fair morning,
Ere ever a storm-cloud darkened the west.
Ere ever a shadow of night gave warning,
When life seemed only a pleasant guest,
Whv, then, all humor and comedy scorning,
I liked high tragedy beat.
I liked the challenge, the fierce-fought duel,
With a death or a parting in every act;
I liked the villain to be more cruel
Than the basest villain could be, in fact.
For it fed the fires in my mind with fuel
Of the thing my life lacked.
But as time passed by and I met my Sorrow,
And as she played at night on the stage of mJ
heart,
I found I could not forget on the morrow
The pain I had felt n her tragic part;
And, alas ! no longer I needed to borrow
My grief from the actor’s art.
And as life grew older and therefore sadder,
(Yet sweeter, may be, in its Autumn haze)
I find more pleasure iu watching the gladder.
And lighter order of humorous plays,
When the mirth is as mad, or may be madder
Than the mirth of my lost days.
I like to be forced to laugh and be merry,
Tho’ the earth with sorrow is ripe and rife;
I like for an evening at least to bury
All thoughts of trouble or pain or strife,
In sooth, I like to be moved to the very
Emotions I miss in life.
OWS’S I O il.
A Story of London Society.
CHAPTER I.
“ SHE WOULD NEVER MABRY A MAN SHE COULD NOT
TRUST.”
“ Bear your blushing honors meekly, old lel
low. You are the hero of the hour.”
“Let ua get away somewhere out of tho
crowd, away from everybody,” eaid the other
man quietly, but with some impatience in his
particularly sweet and gentle voice.
“Not so easy, in town on a May afternoon I
Let us go to the Park, and there, if the sight of
your baking fellow-creatures don’t tempt you
to join the solemn throng, we’ll go and bide
ourselves among the trees and moralise.”
“The Park! That is just the place to meet
everybody.”
“ Then why not meet them all at once and get
the ordeal over ? Face the congratulations of
your defeated rivals like a man. One would
think you were ashamed of your victory.”
“So I am rather.”
“ Ashamed of carrying off the prettiest, wit
tiest, richest girl in London, the only good
looking heiress that ever was born, whom all
the penniless bachelors I know worshiped from
afar, and all those who were running through
their own money looked upon as the hoped-for
support ol their de .’lining years 1”
“ That is just where it is; it is rather awk
ward to be marrying a girl so much better off
than oneself. It is not as if I had expectations,
or any hope of making myself some day. I
ought to have been content to worship her from
afar like the rest.”
“But, my dear fellow, she wouldn’t let yoit
You are unreasonable; yon let strained senti
ment carry you too far. Let us get into this
hansom and argue the point.”
They both got into the hansom, and as they
were slowly driven in the block of vehicles of
all kinds along crowded Piccadilly, the younger
man continued his argument.
“ I look upon you as the one solitary case of
merit rewarded which restores my faith in &
discriminating Providence. The very first time
Miss Edgcombe saw you, two months ago, on
your return from India, she seemed pleased
when some one told her you admired her, and
she asked me several questions about you
which showed that she was interested in you.
Well, you can guess that that girl has been
used to attention and admiration from every
man she has met since she left the school
room, and is a pretty shrewd judge of the mer
its of her admirers. And I never thought so
highly of her judgment as I do now.”
“ But then you are the most generous-hearted
fellow in the world. Why you haven’t married
her yourself long before this is the most per
plexing conundrum I ever ask myself.”
“I? Oh, I never asked her! We’ve been
chums-Doris and I—and I am her adviser and
counsellor in all matters of difficulty. Of course
I give up my office now to you; but it has been
a great thing for her to have at hand a man on
whose experience and discretion she could re
ly, surrounded as she is by a giddy crowd of
idle Sutterers.”
The young fellow said this with all solemnity;
but his friend interrupted him with a laugh.
“That's rough on the other flutterers, Char
lie.”
“ Other flutterers! I assure you I never
flutter where Miss Edgcombe is concerned. I
am her mentor, I tell you—her pilot among the
quicksands of a corrupt and venal society—
and, if it had not been for my influence exerted
in your favor, who knows but she might have
bestowed her hand, not speak of her fortune, in
quite a different quarter ?”
Charlie Papillqn twirled his golden mustacho
with ferocity as he finished this menacing
speech; but the other man laughed again.
“It is lucky for me I did not know before
that my fate hung on your uncompromising
hands; I should never have had the courage to
propose.”
•‘But then it is so easy to propose to an
heiress. It seems the natural thing to do, if
one gets a tete-a-tete with her. She expects it,
and is so well used to refusing offers that she
knows how to dismiss one kindly with the least
possible pain to one’s feelings. 1 think Doris
must have refused all the single men she knows
except me.”
“ Why didn’t you try ? You would have
had a better chance than anybody, I should
think.”
“ How could I ? I haven’t any money. What
could I have said to her ? How could I neatly
disguise my willingness to share nine thousand
a year and expectations with a pretty girl ? My
heart and two hundred a year could have no
possible attraction for her.”
“ Take care—consider my feelings. You are
putting my own case.”
“ Oh, no; that is quite another thing 1 If
Miss Edgcombe had accepted me or any of those
other fellows—flutterers, as you call them—all
the rest of us would have called out in chorus,
• What on earth can she see in him while
now we all metaphorically step back and bow
ourselves out, and make way quite cheerfully
for • old Glyn.’ It is just the right man and the
right woman for once, and everybody acknowl
edges it and says, * Bless you, my children?’ I
always felt myself that a beneficent Providence
had something nice in store for both of you, and
Providence has fulfilled my highest hopes in
giving you each other.”
Charlie Papillon smoke enthusiastically ; but
he was hardly overstating the case either M