The Madisonian. (Virginia City, Mont.) 1873-1915, 1896-11-28
A FUNNY WORLD.

Ii NClC elltliS III Tx u
1t was late. The last bus had rolled
home and P%iccadilly was almost de-
serted save for an occasional cab that
drove by with a flash Of lamps and
tinkling Of bells.
Vernon lit another cigar and puffed
away 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 awful
ly like you in many ways. You remem-
Der him, don't your
l 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
to heaven he were here now. l tell
you what, old boy, We'll have another
drink and III tell you his story; it's a
queer one. Waiter..'
When the walter had put down the
drinks and left the room Vernon be-
gan:
"Nell, to begin WITH" he said, Il
must tell you that Jim Barham, when
l first met him (Which, by the way, was
up at Oxford, was looked upon as the
luckiest young fellow going. He was
good looking, strong as a horse, and
his father was one Of the richest mel
in England. The old man had made a
devil of a lot of money in trade-I for
get what sort-and Sim vas his only
son. He and l We're great pals at the
varsity, though, Of course, 1-being on
a comparatively small allowance
couldn't keep quite up with his way of
living. Well, to cut part of a long story
short, one day the old man went broke,
God knows what broke h~im-Specula.
ton of some sort, l suppose; anyhow
he failed for all he was worth and jim
was left an absolute beggar. AS sooI
as he heard the news Jim left oxford
and l only saw him for a few minutes
at the station, when he cried like
child. My time at the varsity was owe
ut the end of the terI.., and Jim prom
ised to come and stop with me at my
peoples in Norfolk. l never saw hin
again in two years"
Vernon stopped to knock the ash of
his cigar.
60 on l said impatiently, for 1 wa;
getting interested.
Il tried all | could to find out hi
w~hereabouts,' Vernon went on. 'bu
all to no purpose. No n knew wher'
he was or where he had gone to. \
last, after two years, l met him again
1t was at a little Bohemian restauran
in Soho, one of these places where the.
feed you for practically nothing.
had gone there cut of pure curiosity
and the first person l saw in the plac
was jim. He didn't seem anything Xix
as pleased to see me as l was to Sc
him, and it was I'M time before
could get him to tell me what he wa
doing. When he did. his story was
sad one. His poor old father had die
soon after the failure and lett Jim absc
lutcly penniless and alone in the worlt
No one would stir a finger to help hin
and he. who had never done Il stroke O
real work in his life. had to look on
for some way of earning a living. II
came to London, starved for nearly
year. and at last managed to get a jO
as super in some theater or other. This
was, he told me, what he was dOin
then. His clothes were old and dirt.
he hadn't shaved for a week. and the1
were great dark lines under his eye
that told a thousand tales. l begge
him to let me help him, but he refuse
all offers. swore that he would get ri
of himself if something better didn
turn up. and then left me without eve
shaking hands.
After that | often saw him abou
but he would never let me get near, al
would stink away directly he saw IN
Every time | met him he seemed to loo
more wrctclled. shabbier ard dir,!c
and one day / knew how low he IL
sunk. poor devil. for ! saw him para
Ing piccaa!l.y VIZ! sandwich bo2r'