The Savannah morning news., 1902-07-13

PtSAOi mat was d green norm. L even
affected to be listening to the music.
The wheel spun again; the game was
declared, the rake was busy, but 1
did not move. At last the man l had
displaced touched me on the arm and
whispered: Better make a straddle
and divide your stake this time l did
not understand him, but as l saw he
was looking at the board 1 was
obliged to look, too. 1 drew back
dazed. Where my coin had lain mo-
ment before there was a glittering
heap of gold.''
His stake had doubled, quadrupled
and doubled again.
Il did not know how much then-I do
not know now-it may have been not
more than $500 or $500. but it dazzled
and frightened me. Make your name,
gentlemen said the croupier, monot-
onously. I thought he looked at me
everybody seemed to be looking at me
and my companion repeated his
warning. But here must again appeal
to the boyish reader in defense of my
idiotic obstinacy. To have taken advice
would have shown my youth 1 shook
my head-I could not trust my voice
l smiled, but with a sinking heart, and
let my stake remain. The ball sped
around the wheel and stopped. There
was a pause. The 'croupier indolentlv
advanced his rake and swept nv
whole pile, with others, into the bank.
l had lost it all. Perhaps it may be
olfncult Tor me to explain why | act
ually felt relieved and even to some
extent triumphant, but I seemed to
have asserted my grown up independ-
ence-possibly at the cost of reducing
the number of my meals for days; but
what of that! l was mani | wish I
could say 1T was a lesson to me. | am
afraid it was not. 1t was true that I
did not gamble again, but then | had
no special desire to-and there was no
temptation. | am afraid it was an in
cloent without moral. Yet it had one
touch characteristic of the period
which l like to remember. The man
who had spoken to me, 1 think sud-
denly realized at the moment of my
disastrous coup, the fact of my ex-
IRENE youth. He moved toward the
banker, and, leaning over him, whis-
pered a few words. The banker looked
up, half impatiently, half kindly; his
hand strayed tentatively toward the
pile of coin. instinctively knew what
was meant, and, summoning my de-
termination, met his eyes with all the
Indifference l could assume, and walk
ed away"
Mr.. Harte at this period had small
room at the top of a house owned by
a distant relative-a second or third
cousin-who kept a rather expensive
half-club, half-restaurant in the lower
part of the building. The restaurant
was too expensive for him to patron
ize, but he saw many of it's celebrated
frequenters. Says Mr.. Harte:
Il remember, however, one hand.
some young fellow whom l used tc
meet occasionally on the staircase
who captured my youthful fancy. ]
met him only at midday, as he did not
rise till late, and this fact with a
certain scrupulous elegance and neat
ness in his dress, ought to have made
me suspect that he was a gambler. In
my inexperience it only invested him
with certain romantic mystery. One
morning as l was going out to my
very early breakfast at a cheap Ital-
ian cafe on Long Wharf I was sur
prised to find him also descending the
staircase. He was scrupulously dress
ed even at that early hour, but I was
struck by the fact that he was all in
black and his slight figure, buttoned
to the throat in a tightly fitting frock
coat, gave, 1 fancied, a singular mel
ancholy to his pale, Southern face
Nevertheless he greeted me with more
than his usual serene cordiality and
| l remembered that he looked up, with
| a half-puzzled, half-amused expression
at the rosy morning sky as he walked
a few steps with me down the de-
serted street. 1 could not help saying
that l was astonished to see him up
so early, and he admitted that it was
break in his uusaI habits, but added,
with a smiling significance afterward
remembered, that it was IAN even
chance if he did it again." AS we
neared the street corner a man in a
buggy drove up impatiently In spite
of the drivers evident haste my hand
some acquaintance got in leisurely
and, lifting his glossy hat to me with
pleasant smile, was driven away.
have a very lasting recollection of mis-
face and figure as the buggy disap-
peared down the empty street. never
saw him again. 1t was not until a
week later that / knew that an hour
after he left me that morning he was
lying dead in a little hollow behind
the Mission Dolores-shot through the
head in a duel for which he had risen
so early"
When Mr.. Roman, a public-spirited
and enterprising San Francisco pub
Usher, projected the publication of a
literary magazine in 1868 no name but
Bret Harte's was considered in the
matter of choice of an editor.
Mr.. Noah Brooks relates an odd
complication that arose while 1.-THE
Luck of Roaring Camp" was being put
into type in the printing office where
the Overland Monthly was prepared
for publication:
"a young lady who served as proof
reader in the establishment had been
somewhat shocked by the scant morals
of the mother of Luck, and when she
came to the scene where Kentuck, aft
er reverently fondling the infant, said:
He wrastled with my finger, the id
little cuss,' the indignant proofreader
was ready to throw up her engagement
rather than go any further with a story
so wicked and immoral. There was
CONSERVATION throughout the establish
ment and the head of the concern went
to the office of the publisher with the
virginia. proofreader's protest. I'm
luckily, Mr.. Roman was absent from
the city. Harte, when notified of the
obstacle raised in the way of"The Luck
of Roaring Camp" manfully insisted
that the story must be printed as he
wrote it, or not at all. Mr.. Roman S
locum- tenens, in despair, brought the
Objectionable manuscript around to my
office and asked my advice. When
read the sentence that had caused all
this turmoil, having first listened to the
tale of the much-bothered temporary
publisher, I surprised him by burst
of laughter. 1t seemed to me incredi-
Bile that such a tempest in a teacup
could have been raised by Harte's bit
of character sketching. But, recover
ing my gravity, 1 advised that the
whole question should be left until Mr.