Chicago eagle. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1889-19??, 1896-10-10
A FUNNY WORLD.

IL was late. The last bus had rolled
home and Piccadllly was almost de-
serted save for IN occasional cab that
drove by with Hash Of lamps and
tinkllng Of bells.
Vernon lit another cigar and puifsd
away In silence.
"Whnt you were saying Just now
about n short life and jolly one" he
said at last, "set me thinking about
poor old Jim Barham. Hc was awful
~ like you In many ways. You remem-
bcr him, don't your"
shook my head.
"Ah. he was before your time," said
Vernon, settling himself more comfort
ably in his chair. "He was one Of tho
best chaps that ever lived. only wish
to heaven he werc here now. I tell
you what, old boy. we'll have another
drink and Ill tell you his story; it's .
queer one. Waitcr.'
When the waiter had put down the
drinks and left the room Vernon be.
gan:
"Wcll. TO begin WITH" he said, IL
must tell you that Jim Bnrham. when
first met him (Which. by tho way, was
UP at Oxford. was looked upon a. tho
luckiest young fellow going. Hc was
good looking. strong as a horse. and
his father was ono Of the richest men
In England. Tho old man had made o
devil OF lot OF money In tradc-I for
get what sort-and dim was his only
son. He and were great pals at the
varsity, though, Of course. I-being on
Q comparatively small allowance
couldn't keep quito up with his way Of
living. Well, to cut part Of a long story
short. one dry the old man went broke.
God knows what broke hlm--specula-
ton Of some sort, l suppose; anyhow,
no failed for all he was worth and Jim
was left an absolute bcSGar.. As soon
% he heard the news Jim left Oxford.
and only saw him for few minutes
at the station, when no cried like q
child. My tIme at the varsity was over
at the end OF the teri.,, and Jim prom.
lsed to como and stop with me at my
peoples In Norfolk. never saw him
again In two years."
Vernon stopped to knock the ash Oh
bis cigar.
"Go on" ! said impatiently. for was
getting interested.
II tried oil could to nnd out hid
whereabouts" Vernon went on, but
oil to no purpose. No one knew, where
he was or where he had gone to. Al
last, after two years, ! met him again,
1t was at little Bohemian restaurant
In Soho, one OF these places where they
feed you for practically nothing.
had gone there out Of pure curiosity,
and the first person saw In tho placa
was Jim. He didn't seem anything like
40 pleased to see me AZ was to see
him, and 1t was some time before
could get him to tell me what he wal
doing. When he did. his story was q
sad one. His poor old father had died
soon after the failure and lett Jim abso
iutcly pennlless and alone In the world
No one would stir finger to help him
and he, who had never done stroke OF
real work In his life. had to look on,
for some way Of earning living. HI
came to London, starved for nearly 9
year. and at last managed to get q jot
a. super In some theater or other. ThaI
was, he told me, what he was dome
then. His clothes were old and dirty
he hadn't shaved for week, and Their;
were great dark lines under his eyer
that told a thousand tales. begged
him to let me help him, but he refused
all offers, swore that he would get RID
OF himself II something better didn'
turn up, and then left me without ever
shaking hands.
"After that l often saw him about
but he would never let me get near, ant
would stink away directly he saw me
Every time met him he seemed to lool
more wrctched. shabbler and dirtier
and one day knew how low he hat
sunk. POOR devil! for saw him purad
ing Piccadilly with sandwich beard
strapped across his back ana n genera
look about him that told OF drink an,
nothing else. After this lost sight O
him again, and must confess that, II
the hustle of business and the excite
mcnt of political affairs, l almost for
got his existence.
"One morning, however, about tw'
years later, when was sitting over [
late breakfast, my servant came In ant
told me a rough, dlrty-looking mai
wanted % see me.
~ told him you We're at breakfast
STR West said, but he said that didn'
matter, he was sure you'd zee him q
tho sama.'