The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1898-05-09
The Story of a Gambler.

last fifteen years. His salary. advancing
by easy stages, bad now arrived at no
less a sum than 9150 per annum-an
amount that might be considered prince
ly remuneration for the work required
of him. March did not regard it in that
light. Three years ago he had comtrived
to get engaged. and, of course the girl
was penniless.
1T is sink or swim with me now he
said. AT the end of the year leave old
Fletcher & Harrison and start working in
earnest. l would sooner be anything
crossing il you like-than stay
on there any longer. 1 am burning my
ships"
Well" I said at last, lit is a good
thing you have enough to keep you from
starving. while you are trying your hand
at the new trade" He laughed derisively.
You do not seem 20 comprehend that
this is a big thing" he went on. Look
here, old man''-in more serious tone
II can not keep that poor little girl Of
mine waiting any longer. Unless 1 can
secure decent income in year or two.
at the farthest, I don't care much what
becomes of me- When / gamble at all u
like to do it thoroughly. l have sold out
all my investments. kept enough to keep
me for half year. with economy. and put
the rest into good thing 1 had wind of
the other day. It's not safe, of course,
but with any luck it will pay 50 per cent
| some day"
You utter fool" was all I could trust
myself to say.
I'VE shall see," he replied composedly.
as he lit one of my cigars with a spill.
I'm years time, independently of what
can make by journalism, l expect my
two thousand (Which is plaguey little use
to me at per cent? will be worth twenty.
Then shall SELL
ooh! you will sell then, will your" .
was rather exasperated at the mans fol-
| ly. And you expect to make money by
journalism, poor innocent thousand
year in that, l suppose. WE'LL only hope
you may"
Il know you fellows who write think no
one can make anything at it but your
selves" March spoke with a tolerant
smile at my infirmities.
II am afraid you will not have many
receipts to enter in your ledgers," I re-
torted. Poor March! / do not think he
| had one single qualification for journal
ISM unless it were this unbounded self
confidence of his.
You do not know me yet were his
words as he left my rooms that night.
walking vigorously along Holborn.. He
was shabby, but buoyant. I stood Rm
lunch that day, partly because he had
rather a hungry look, and partly because
l wished to find out how things were
going with him. He expatiated largely on
his economical habits. He had found
bed-sitting room at shillings a week,
and was working hard. The shares were
going up slowly but steadily; however,
there was no hurry about them. MOI
He had not made much out of journalism
yet but he had always expected to find
it a bit of a struggle at first. He tried
hard to speak with the old hopeful tone.
but l could see 1t was an effort, and
his eyes wore a haggard look. l urged
him to sell out his shares while they were
up-they were some South African mine
or other, and I never had any faith in
mining shares-but he was firm as rock.
Twenty thousand is my figure for
those shares" he said; mot a farthing
less"
A few days later I left London for some
weeks. during which certain events oc-
Cured of so momentous character (from
my own point of view as to make me
forget for the time all about my friends
affairs. 1t was not until June that we
met once more. 1 happened to be walking
along the Strand in the afternoon-in fact,
was taking a young lady to a matinee,
the same young lady who had made me
temporarily oblivious of MARGINS welfare
when 1 became suddenly aware Of face
and figure that were familiar to me. A
man was walking along the gutter.
dressed in the flowing robes of an Arab
sheik. and attracting no small amount OF
attention from the crowd. He was dis
tributing small handbils to the passers-
by, and he handed me one AS he did
so our eyes met, and I saw that he was
March. He turned away quickly when
he saw that 1 recognized him. l could
not Stop-Edith being with me-but when
we got to the theater told her his story
and the dear girl insisted on my gong
out between the acts TO try and find him.
1t took me long time. but at last ran
him to earth In a little by-street near
Charing Cross.
1 pressed a sovereign on him-I was not
a rich man or / would gladly have made
it five-but he would have nothing Of it,
The man was as proud as ever
MY dear fellow 1 demonstrated, sure
ly it would be worth while to realize On a
few OF those shares. just to tide you over
for the present" 1 did not know that
they were practically unstable at that
time, nor did he tell me that He con-
trived a laugh, as he reiterated his old
determination to hold on at all costs.
\ year passed away. I had taken a
house in Surrey, and rarely came up to
London now except on business. 1t so
happened that one day 1 had occasion to
call on a firm in the city and on my way
there passed by the Office of MARGINS old |
employers. The name brought his story
TO my memory and 1 wondered what had |
become of him.
Half way down WaIbrook there was
block. Crowds always attract me. and |
pushed forward to see what was the mat
ter. A ewspaper-seller. It seemed. had !
fallen down in a III. or dead. Presently |
the body was lifted into the ambulance, |
and wheeled of toward the hospital.
was unduly depressed all that evening. |
L resolved TO look in at the hospital next |
morning. They would have taken him to I
st. Philips, and the house surgeon there /
was an acquaintance of mine.
1t was about Il when / arrived there. and I
found my way into Miller's room. In a !
quarter Of an hour or so he put in an ap- i
pearance. overwhelmed with work. as /
usual told him my errand, and his eyes |
frightened as at a humorous recoIec-
ton.
oh, l remember that chap" he said. /
Nothing much the matter-falnted from i
want of food. 1 fancy. Curious thing I
was. he made out that he had just come /
into a fortune-thirty thousand. l think he /
said A bit touched in the head, I ex-
pect."
Where is he? What was his name?"
asked, eagerly.
Sent him out last night-he was well
enough after he'd had some brandy and /
a hunk OF bread. Some name Ike Clark. !