The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1883-07-07

such a thing was impossible and incompre-
hensibe; but | swear to you that what leo
me to take to betting and gambling with
more than ordinary zeal was the purest
and hottest incentive man could have
A woman, of course, you say wen, yes,
but girl rather than woman she was
then. Lucy was the daughter of small
tradesman, a druggist, in Camden Town
| had made her acquaintance IN some IN,
formal way, and had gradually wormeo
myself into the confidence of the family
4 was madly in love with Lucy, who-well,
l won't attempt to describe her, for certain
reasons not far off us just now. Suffice II
she was like Traddles' Sophy, ''the dearest
girl in the world"
Many visits to the little household, and
various little trips to Richmond or Epplng
| Forest, play-going, and what not IN heI
company, had the usual result. told Lucy
of my love, and she consented to become
my wife.
Now, had l been free from debt, there
was really no reason why we should not
have married at once. l had as much as
many a curate marries upon. But then
l aCdS in debt; / had duns and difficulties,
no present means of making my domlclle
fit for a wife, and, above all, my little in
come was somewhat precarious. Then
had no particular prospects to look forward
| to.
Lucy's father, like most men of his class
in London, particularly if blessed with a
large family, as he was, hardly said either
yea or nay to the matter. He allowed us
to judge for ourselves. | was gentleman,
he said-meaning thereby an honest man
| and meant to act straight by his girl; so
what more was there for him to say.
Well, by the spring of 1872 our engagement
| had continued for some months, and was
daily getting more deeply involved by rea-
| son of my pursuit of luck. | betted on
| hnninor n mil p1USplf mn that
way, but only with the result of throwing
away the best part of what l earned.
Things were in this state shortly before
the Derby. was going on in bad way,
l knew that something must be done before
| long. | knew that | must carve out new
| path for myself somehow; that must con-
trive some fresh plan, or go without Lucy,
and also go to universal smash. Yet what
to do did not know. l waited, in hope
lessly hopeful condition, for something to
turn up. l put trouble and worry away
from me and would have none of it.
Do you not know that curious dreamy
condition you get into sometimes, when
| you refuse to allow yourself to think of the
future? You live in a kind of unreal reality,
to use paradoXical expression. The pres
| ent you make to occupy your thoughts en-
| tirely. You wait for the unexpected.
| Well, that was my case then. | was gay
as ever. | made merry with my friends as
! uSudl anu Idlhell 10 NY luCy-UOu lOISlNS
me las if | We're coming into ten thousand
year the next week Meanwhile l threw
| off daub after daub, until even my
accommodating ''uncle" looked suspicious
and hesitating, and nearly all the resulting
cash was put on horses whose names had
been mysteriously confded to me as those
| of certain winners.
[ was not very heavily booked for the
| Derby, as it happened, not having much
available cash, and having intended to put
something on" on the day before the race.
An uncomfortable assurance was with me
of impending trouble. | felt that the crisis
of my fortunes was close at hand.
| However, before anything unpleasant &C.
CURED, an unexpected something turned
up. 1t came in the person of my friend Mr..
James O'Hooligan.
Jimmy OHooligan was a boisterous
Irishman, very well known in the Bohemia
of London at that time. He was a middle
| aged man, of somewhat handsome appear
| ance, and carrying himself with military
air. He possessed glib tongue, an amaz-
ing fund of anecdote, had a musical voice
and ear, and all the social advantages of
one who has kissed the Stone of Barney.
Need | add that Jimmy was extremely
popular with both the ladies and gentlemen
of his acquaintance?
He got his living in one of those mys-
FERROUS ways common to Bohemia. Some
Jl1leS he sat as q model IN the studios OF
such artists as could afford the luxury. In
| this way he may have earned a good deal
| at timeS-for models are often very well
paid-and he has figured in many a char
acter on the walls of Burlington House.
Jimmy seemed to be known by every body.
He hung about newspaper offices, particu-
larly those of a sporting character. He
was admitted behind the scenes of theaters.
He was on the free-list at every music-hall.
He knew every prominent member of 'the
fancy" and the P. R., and all over London
he was hailed as a cherished friend by pub
| licans and barmaids.
These characteristics threw a romantic
| halo over Jimmy, to my young and some
what verdant mind. Moreover, he was
the life and soul of every party he got
among, though rather vulgar, coarse and
| dlsreputable soul, it must be admitted.
But he was frequent visitor to the studios
of Camden Town, and was quite one of our
free-and-easy fraternity.
1t was the Monday morning before the
Derby, that race, as every one knows, be-
ing run upon Wednesday. | was sitting
in my studio at work, knocking off one of
those thin experiments in color which took
but day to complete, and upon which
''uncle" would advance me fifteen shil-
lings or a pound, half of that being profit
or earnings to me, the balance covering
cost of canvas, colorS and frame. In the
midst of my work there entered to me the
| O'Hooligan.
Evidently something was in the wind !;
Jmmy's entrance was dramatically inn
pressive. Cautiously projecting his head
and shoulders through the half-opened
doorway, he asked,
"Are we alone?'
| was, and said so. Then he slid slowly
into the room, like snake, holding the
| door as closely as was compatible with the
| passage of his body. Once inside, he
quickly closed the door, and locked it: then
he turned and faced me, standing still,
with his back against the door, and sum
moning into his face a look of intense eX-
citement. He seemed to be laboring under
the pressure of some tremendous secret,
which was struggling to force its way out
of him.
Suddenly he crossed the room towards
me with long slow strides, and on tiptoe,
holding up warning finger the while, and
| literally cleaning on me with fixed mean
ing eyes. Laying his hands on my Shout
| ders, he whispered hoarsely,
'Our fartune's made!'
Then he stood back and eyed me-
SO, indeedH' | said, for 1 knew Jimmy.
Another straight tip, | supposed"
Another" he shrieked. "Ihe straight
tip, me bhoy! The straightest that liver
there! eighties to wan! hundred to wan
and sartin as the fate av sinners!"
| struggled desperately against the con
tagion of Jimmy's manner, for knew by
experience what it all meant. Isaid:
Look here, old man, I've had about
enough of your tips. They never come Off