The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1883-07-05
HI MAKEsHIFT COLT.
A Tale of the Derby.

A Tale of thu Derby.
No, I never gamble. 1 don't profess a
pious horror of it, or anything of that sort,
you know, but I simply object to it as a
waste of time, money and temper. Not that
L won't have sixpence OF the rub, with
three-penny points, or so, just to give an
interest to ones whist; and not that I won't
put a crown on a horse, or take a ticket in
q sociable sweepstake.. But that's mere
amusement; ! never bet or gamble in earn
Why don't L? Well, fer a very simple
reason. Ionce all but made a grand coup,
4-once came within the cock of a horses
earof pulling of a very big thing-and /
What do you saya Funk? No, sir, 1 call
it common sense I had a chance such as
a.man rarely gets more than once in his
life, and fortune didn't favor me. / have
reasoned it out since, and come to the con-
ciusion that the odds against a gambler are
heavier ' than any me- upposes. I be-
lieve that / should never have such anoth-
er chance asSthat; and, upon the whole, 1t
doesn't seem to me to be worth while to
gamble now. / am Satisfied that. L am not
a lucky hand in that way
However, you shall hear the tale. Not
that its much of-astory, either; but yousay
You would like to hear the account of my
life. Andthfs one bit of mine is really the
most Important incident, / think, in my
whole career. ; For, had it gone otherwise
- But therel you shall judge ~foryourself.
Seeing me now what ! m a fourishing
teadasman IN Auckland, New Zealand, you
would hardly imagined how T began life. ]
have K root here and prospered; have
a wife and family, as you see, and am a
comfortable dmanq yet only q very few
yearslago my case was widely different. =.
An, yes! Eighteen seventy-two; Gre.
morne's year. It's q queer thing to look
Back on those times. Only "a short ten
years ago, and yeti am quite a different
man.
Lsxas a gentlemani in those days, If you
please, although as poor as a rat; an artist
to boot, that being one Of the ~welEknown
lucrative professions that needy gentlemen
are 10 fond of adopting.
I don't say that / had much faith in my
own genius. Youthful and verdant as ]
was then, I knew better than thai. But an
artists life seemed an agreeable one to me,
and / was sanguine enough to suppose that
l could earn a living at it, as a copyist and
producer of pot-boilers. That was about
all l looked forward to.
l dwelt in Camden Town, London, in q
studio high up at the top of a house that
stood in an anything but pretentious street.
l was practically alone in the world. For,
though I had relations saw or knew but
little of them. Being poor, and an. artist,
Twas naturally a Bohemian, and my asso.
'ciates were mostly drawn from that etero-
geneous stratum of society.
l was poor, as l lave said, but / was not
SO INDECENT as some of my friends and &C.
~quaintances were. In their opinion, in.
deed, Twas far too well off to thoroughly
comprehend the luxuries of poverty; for /
used to receive an occasional t~en-pound
note from one of my relatives, who, though
he grumblcd at my uselessness, vet ALWAYS
sent me that sum whenever Twas so pushed
as to bring myself to apply to him. E.4I
Besides that, l could earn money. There
was a picture-dealer who used to give me an
occasional job, to make a copy or the like.
I'D %A4- lA.A -
was aware of, who would advance sums
on such pictures as ! brought them. o yes
that used to be q regular system then, and
l daresay it is now.
This is the way of it: you paint a picture
and take it to the artistic "uncle." He
lends youton it a certain price, which he
fixes according to the size of the picture,
and with small relation to its subject OF
execution. If you think proper, of course,
you can redeem the picture any time within
ayear, or you could take a possible pur.
chaser to view it at the shop. At the ex.
piration 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 a price on our paintings that, deductine
the cost of materials, would leave us whai
might be reckoned a shilling an hour or SC
for our own work. And that work, as YOU
may suppose, was far from being our best;
yet with our bestwe could do no better.
We pawned our pot-boilers, without q
thought of ever "taking them out" again
In due course they passed irrevocably into
"upcle's" possession. What he did with
them then we neither knew nor cared.
Among the men L used to meet about in
the studios, or consort with in the bar-par
Tor of the Brush and Palette of an evening
were many whose sole means of livelihood
appeared to be painting for the pawnbrok
ers. l had another resource, as I have men
tioned-thatp picture dealer out of whom
used to make wages pretty frequently. Ant
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 fol
want of a ten-pound note.
was a sort of Croesus among these out
at-elbows daubers then. They drank ant
smoked n ate very frequently at my ex
and they also often BORROWED" Shilling
and half-crowns, with the careless bon
homie of their guild. They made much o
me and tickled my youthful vanity by pre-
tending to take it for granted that persona
talent with the brush was the real source O
my comparative af1uence.
l had no business to call myself poor, TO
L had, from the various sources, a total in
come OF over two hundred a year. Then
had a good capital, in the shape of a fai
stock OF such things as a young artist re
quires, an extensive wardrobe, some furni
ture n books. l was comfortable enough
in my humble studio, which also was m
living room, with a small bedroom adjoin
ing it. There was no reason why I shoul'
haze felt poverty, but 1 did.
Like most inexperienced youngsters I ha,
but the vagueSt ideas of the value of money
Moreover, L was extravaganza, never stint
ing my expenditure, and wasting a lotmor
money than Icould afford at the Brush an,
Palette, end similar places. I was Away
in arrears, and, worst of all, I fell into a sa,
way of betting on races.
Now, goody-goody people would say tina
such a thing was impossible and incompre
hensible; but / swear to you that what le
me to take to betting inc gambling wit
more b ordinary zeal was the pures
and hottest incentive man could have.
A woman, of course, you say. Well, yes
but a girl rather Than a woman she wa
then. Lucy was the daughter of a smal
tradesman, a druggist, in Camden Towr
l had made her acquaintance in some il
formal way, and had gradually worme
myself into the confidence of the family
was madly in love with Lucy, who-we1
won't attempt to describe her, for certai
reasons not far off us just now. Suffice
she was like Traddles'Sophy, "the deares
girl in the world"
Many visits to the little household, an
various little trips to Richmond or Eppin
Forest, play-going, and not in he
company, had the usualresult. told Luc
of my love, and she consented to becom
my wife.
Now, had 7 been free from debt, ther
was really NO reason why we should nc
ave married at once. / had as much a
many a curate marries upon. But the
/ ooGs in debt; 1 lac duns and difficultie:
no present means of making my domicil
fit for a wife, and, above all, my little in
come was somewhat precarious. Then
had no particular prospects to look forwar
to.
Lucy's father, like most men of his elias
in London, particularly if blessed with
large family, as he was, hardly said eithe
yea or nay to. the matter. He allowed u
to iudSs for oyIrso]rss. Twas a gentleman