Daily public ledger. [volume] (Maysville, Ky.) 1892-191?, 1896-10-03
A FUNNY WORLD.

Vernon and were sitting in the club.
1T was late. The last bus had rolled
home and Piccadilly was almost desert
I'd save for an occasional cab that drove
by with fash of lamps and tinlling of
bells.
Vernon lit another cigar and pulled
Gway in silence.
What you were saying just now
about a short life and a Jolly one" he
said, at last, "set me thinking about
poor old Jim Barham. He was awfully
like you in many ways. You remember
him, don't you?"
] shook my head.
"Ah, he was before your time" said
Vernon, settling himself more comfort
ably in his chair. "He was one Of the
best chaps that ever lived. only wish
10 heaven he were here now. | tell YOU
what, old boy, Wen have apother drink
and I'll tell you his story; it's a queer
one Waiterl''
When the waiter had put down the
drinks and left the room Vernon be-
gan:
swell, to begin with" he said, II.
must tell you that Jim Barham, when I
first met him (Which. by the way. wa
up at OXford), was looked upon as the
JucSiest young fellow going. He wa.
good looking, strong as horse, aud his
father was one of the richest men in
England. The old man had made
devil of lot of money in trade-I for
get 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 keep quite up with his way of
living. Well, to cut part of long story
short, one day the old man went broke.
No one knows what broke him-specu-
lation of some sort, suppose; anyhow,
he failed for all he was worth and Jim
was left an absolute beggar. As soon as
he heard the news Jim left Oxford, and
1 only saw him for few minutes at the
station, when he cried like a child. Nv
time at the varsity was over at the end
of the term, and Jim promised TO come
and stop with me at my peoples in
Norfolk. never saw him again in two
years"
Vernon stopped to knock the ash off
his cigar.
go on" said, impatiently, for was
getting interested.
81 tried all / could to find out his |
whereabouts,r 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, met him again. |
II 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 the place
was Jim. He didn't seem anything |
like as pleased to see me as / was 20 |
see him, and IL was some time before /
could get him to tell me what he was
doing. When he did, his story was a
sad one. His poor old father had died
soon after the failure and left Jim alb
solutely penniless 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
80 look out for some way of earning a
living. He came to London, starved
for nearly year, and at last managed |
10 get job as super in some theater
ar other. That was, he told me, what
be was doing then. His clothes were
old and dirty, he hadn't shaved for
week, and there were great dark lines
pndsr his eyes that told thousand
tales. ! begged him to let me help
hin. but he refused all offers, swore
lhht he would get rid Of himself ii
|opaething better didn't turn up, and
then left me without even shaking
hands.
t.Afler mat often saw him about,
but he would never let me get near,
M would stink away directly he saw
nc. Every time met him he seemed
~ look more wrctehed, shabbier and
alfiler. and one day knew how low
be had sunk. raor DEVIL for ] saw him
Eirg pleeedii,r with sandwich
ti,airua fpss The back and 7 N
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