The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1883-07-10
THE PRESS.
TUESDAY MORNING, JULY 10.
From London society.l
The Makeshift Colt.

pious horror of il, or anything of that sort,
you know, but ] simply object to it as a
waste of time, money and temper Not that
] won't have sixpence on the rub, with
three-psnny points, or so, just to give an in
terest to ones whist; and not that / won't
put crown on horse or take a ticket in a
social sweepstake But that's real amuse-
ment; never bet or gamble in earnest
Why don't /? Well, for a very simple
reason. once all but made grand coup
l once came within the cock of horses ear
of pulling off very big thing-and | didn't
What do you say? Funk No, sir, call
1t common sense. had chance such as a
man rarely gets more than once in his life,
and fortune didn't favor me. l have rea-
soned it out since, and come to the conclu-
sion that the odds against gambler are
heavier even than any one supposes. | be-
lieve that should never have such another
chance as that, and, upon the whole, it
doesn't seem to me to be worth while to
lucky man in tina. way.
However, you shall hear the tale. Not
that it's much of story, either, but you say
you would like to hear the account of my life
And this one bit of mine is really the most
important incident, / think, in my whole
Career. For, had | gone otherw.se-But
therei you shall judge for yourself.
Seeing me now what am, a fourishing
tradesman in Auckland, New Zealand. you
would hardly imagine how l began life.
have taken root here and prospered; l have
wife and family, as you see, and am a
comfortable man. Yet only a very few years
ago my case was widely different.
All, yes! 1872; Ceremonies year. It's a
queer thing to look back on those times.
Only short ten years ago, and yet l am
quite different man.
was gentleman in those days, if you
please, although as poor as rat an artist
to boot, that being one of the well-known
lucrative professions that needy gentlemen
are so fond of adopting.
don't say that had much faith in my
own genius. Youthful and verdant as
was then, knew better than that. But all
artists life seemed an agreeable one to me,
and was sanguine enough to suppose that
could earn living at it, as a copyist and
producer of pot boilers. That was about all
looked forward to.
dwelt in Camden Town, London, in a
studio high up at the top of a house that
stood in an anything but pretentious street,
was practically alone in the world. For,
though | bad relations, saw or knew but
little of them. But poor, and an artist,
was naturally Bohemian, and my associ-
ates were mostly drawn from that hetero-
geneous stratum of society.
was poor, as / have said, but was not
so INDECENT as some of nv friends and ac-
quaintances were. In their opinion, indeed,
/ was far too well off to thoroughly compre-
bend the luxuries of poverty; for / used TO
receive an occasional $40 note from one of
my relatives, who, though he grumbled at
my uselessness, yet always sent me that
sum whenever was so pushed as to bring
myself to apply TO him.
Rasides that t aauld aarp yn0nav Thora
was picture-dealer who used to give me an
occasional job, to make copy or the like.
And then there were certain pawnbrokers
was aware of, who could advance sums on
such pictures as brought them. Oh yes
that used to be regular system then, and |
dare say it is now.
This is the way of it: you paint a picture
and take it to the artistic "uncle." He
lends you on a certain price, which he fixes
according to the size of the picture, and
with small relation to its subject or execu-
ton. If you think proper. of course, you
can redeem the picture any time within a
year, or you could take a possible purchaser
to view it at the shop. At the expiration of
the year it becomes ''uncle's" property
Lots of US used to find that these pawn
brokers were our only patrons. They lent
us price on our paintengs that, deducting
the cost of our materials, would leave us
what might be reckoned a shilling an hour
or SO for our own work. And that work, as
you may suppose, was far from being our
best; yet with our best we could do pe-bet-
ter.--
We pawned our pot boilers Without a
thought of ever ''tasing them out'' again.
In due course they passed irreyocably into
''uncle's" possession. What he did with
them then we neither knew nor cared.
Among the men / used to meet about in
the studios or consort within the bar parlor
Of the Brush and Palette of an evening
were many whose sole means of livelihood
appeared to be painting for the pawnbrokers.
l bad another resource, as l have mentioned
that picture-dealer out of whom l used to
make wages pretty frequently. And then
there was that relative of mine who, though
he considered me to be an Idle good-fOr-
nothing, would not let me go wrong for
want of $40 note.
was sort of Croesus among these ou.-
at-elbows daubers then. They drank and
smoked and ate very frequently at my ex-
pense in the free, happy style of Bohemia
and they also often borrowed shillings
and half-crowns with the careless bonhomie
of their guild. They made much of ne,
and tickled my youthful vanity by pretend
ing to take it for granted that personal talent
with the brush was the real source of my
comparative affinence.
had no business to call myself poor, for
had, from the various sources, total in
come of over goo year. Then I had a
good capital, in the shape of fair stock OF
such things as a young artist requires, an
extensive wardrobe, some furniture and
books. / was comfortable enough in my
humble studio, which also was my living
room, with a small bedroom adjoining it.
There was no reason why should have felt
poverty, but did
Like most inexperienced youngsters,
had but the vaguest ideas of the value OF
money. Moreover, | was extravagant,
never stinting my expenditure, and vast
ing lot more money than could afford at
the Brush and Palette and similar places.
was always in arrears, and, worst of all,
fell into sad way of betting on races.
Now, goody -goody people would say that
such thing was impossible and incompre-
hensible; but swear to yeu that what led
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. We'll, yes
but girl rather than woman she was
then. Lucy was the daughter of small
tradesman, druggist, in Camden Town.
had made her acquaintance in some informal
way, and had gradually wormed myself into
the confidence of the family. l was madly
in love with Lucy, who-well / won't at
tempt to describe her, for certain reasons
not far off just now. Suffice it, she was
like. Traddles' Sophy, ''the dearest girl in
the world"
Many visits to the little household, and
various little trips to Richmond or Epping
Forest, play going, and what not in her
company, had the usual result. / told Lucy
of my love, and she consented to become my
wife.
Now, had been free from debt, there
was really no reason why we should no,
have married at once. / had as much al
many curate marries upon. But then
was in debt; had duns and Difficult ties, ne
present means of making myidomicime fit fol
a wife, and, above all, my little .ircome was
some what precarious. Then / had no par.
ticular 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. l 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 engage
ment had continued for some months, and
was daily getting more deeply involved by
reason of my pursuit of luck. 1 betted OF
every event, hoping to pull myself, up that
Way but only with the result of throwing