The herald., 1896-10-28
A FUNNY WORLD.

| Vernon and I were sitting in the club.
1t was late The last bus had rolled home,
end Piccadilly was almost deserted save
for an occasional cab that drove by with
flash of lamps and tinklipg of bells.
! Vernon lit another cigar and puffed
away in silence
"What you were saying just now about
short life and a jolly one,' he said at
last, set me thinking of poor old Jim
Barham. He was awfully like you in
many ways You remember him, don't
your"
shook my head.
"Ah, he was before your time" said
Vernon, setting himself more comfortably
in his chair "He was one Of the best
chaps that ever lived. I only wish to
heaven he were here now. I tell you what.
old boy, we'll have another drink, and I'll
tell you his story. It's a queer one.
Waiterp
When the waiter had put down the
drinks and left the room Vernon began:
"Well, to begin with" he said, 81 must
tell you that Jim Barham, when I first
met him, which, by the way, was up at
Oxford, was looked upon as the luckiest
young fellow going He was good look
ing, strong as horse, and his father was
one of the richest men in England. The
old man had made devil Of a lot of money
In trade-I forget what sort-and Jim was
his only son. He and were great pals at
the varsity, though, of course, I-being on
comparatively small allowance-couldn't
quite keep up with his way Of living.
Well, to cut part of long story. short, one
day the old man went broke. God knows
! hot hvCly y1atio - cor~t
suppose. Anyhow he failed for all he
was worth, and Jim was left an absolute
beggar. AS soons as he heard the news
Jim left Oxford, and only saw him for a
few minutes at the station, when he cried
like child. My time at the varsity was
over at the end of that term, and Jim
promised to come and stop with me at my
peoples place in Norfolk. never saw him
again for two years"
Vernon stopped to knock the ash OF his
cigar.
go on" said impatiently, for was
getting interested.
II tried all l could to find out his where
abouts," Vernon went on, "but all to no
purpose. No one knew where he was or
where he had gone to. At last, after two
years, l met him again. 1t was in little
Bohemian restaurant in Soho, one of those
places where they feed you for practically
nothing. I had gone there out Of pure Curl
osity, and the first person saw in the
place was Jim. He didn't seem anything
like as pleased to see me as I was to see
him, and it was some time before l could
get him to tell Inc what he was doing
When he did. his eGory was sad one. His
poor old father had died soon after his fail
ure and left Jim absolutely penniless and
alone In the world. No one would stir d
finger to help him, and he, who had never
done stroke of real work in his lie, had
to look out for some way of earning q liv-
ing. He came to London, starved for
nearly year, and at last managed to get
job as super In some theater or other
That was, he told me, what he was doing
then. His clothes were old and dirty, he
hadn't shaved for week, and there were
great dark lines under his eyes that told a
thousand tales. I begged him to let me
help him, but he refused all offers, swore
that he would get rid Of himself if some
thing better didn't turn up, and then left
me without even shaking hands.
"After that often saw him about, but
he would never let me get near, and would
slink away directly he saw me- Every
time I met him he seemed to look more
wretched, shabbier and dirtier, and one
day knew how low he had sunk, poor
devil, for I saw him parading Piccadilly
with sandwich boards strapped across his
back and general look about him that
told of drink and nothing else. After
this lost sight Of him again, and must
confess that in the hustle Of business and
the excitement of political affairs I al
most forgot his existence.
"One morning, however, about two
years later, when was sitting over late
breakfast, my servant came in and told
me q rough, dirty looking man wanted to
see me.
"'I told him you werc at breakfast, sir,
West said, but he said that didn't matter;
he was sure you'd see him all the same
"'What name did he gives' asked,
wondering who on earth my visitor could
be.
'Barham, think he said, sir, my
servant replied.
II jumped up and ran into tho hall,
and there found Jim sitting
"'Come in, old man, I said, and shook
him warmly by the hand.
".Jim followed me into the dining room,
and when had shut the door sat down at
the table and cut off a great hunk of bread.
"'Ill speak when I've eaten bit, he
said, and broke into a laugh. Funny
thing-a man with $1,000 being nearly
Gtarvedp
IL looked at the poor chap anxiously,
thinking his head had been turned with
the trouble he had gone through, but
though he was in an even dirtier and more
ragged condition than when I last saw
him, he had no look of the madman.
"When he had crammed the last piece
of bread into his mouth, he jumped up
and seized me by the shoulders.
"'I'm not mad, old chap, or dreaming,
though you know you think am. Look
at this letter, and then tell mo if you don't
think this is devilish funny world
81 read the letter quickly.
"'Good heavens, it's truep was all I
could say.
Eyes said Jim, 'I'm the proud pos
SCISSOR of 9100, 900, left me by an old uncle
who refused to give me cent six years
ago BY --- it isa devilish funny world.
"He fell into chair and burst into a
roar of laughter, and couldn't help join
ing in.
But look here old boy, Jim said,
suddenly growing serious again, this is
not all I came for. came to tell you that
you've got to share this with me. Well
have real good time with this money.
It's no good shaking your head, you must
join me. And I'll tell you what I'm 60
ing to do with it. I'm not going to invest
it or speculate with it, or do any Of that
pOnsaOSe I'm uoinu TO spend IT, I've