Page:All the Year Round - Series 2 - Volume 1.djvu/175

Charles Dickens] a monomania, as I dare say she, whose eyes will be reading this by-and-by, may herself think. Or with more indulgence she will perhaps say, "My dear, I have heard Dr. Bulmer preach far worse." Well perhaps he has, and I have no business to be dressing myself up in a surplice—en amateur. But I say again this does me good, and it will do me good again to read it, and perhaps years hence strange eyes will fall upon it, and reflect, and own, perhaps a little comically, "Well, he is the first that has got sermons, not out of stones, which would be a limited range of subject; but out of roulette and the card table, and the wolfish eyes of 'hell keepers. There, darling, I won't preach again until further notice.

But the truth is, I am in a sort of elation, for I did more than mere rapid preaching this day. Speech may be silvern, silence golden, but action is, after all, a diamond. Going in this night to the roulette table, I see an unusual crowd, and faces showing that stupid interest and admiration which is about as sincere as that of the crowd who stand gaping at the foolhardy Blondin, or the reckless Leotard. Fifty per cent of that crowd has a lingering and secret aspiration, that it might, if a catastrophe were to be, be only present to see it. Here I find they are staring at a tall gay Englishman, a fresh good-looking fellow in some regiment, and whose honest health and loud proclamation of the tub every morning, contrasts with the yellow, dirty faces and the niggardly economy of soap, linen, &c., which they insinuate. His play is of the boldest, not laying the table broadcast with his gold as some foolish ones do; but with a sort of instinct selecting a number here, another there, and "bedding and potting" it, as some one said, with his gold. What I delight in is his contemptuous treatment of the crew of croupiers, whom he treats as though they were mere scavengers or night men, not fit to be addressed, or as you would a dependant. He tosses them his money insolently, and makes them arrange it for him, and if they are awkward, speaks to them with a haughty arrogance that seems to exasperate them. He has won with many pieces on Zero, he has hit the number again and again, and I see the brigands' eyes of the "hell keepers," glancing at him furtively, with anger and dislike, as though they were thinking, "Shall we 'set' him with some of our bullies as he goes home to his hotel, and strip him of what he has robbed us of?" Approving faces are bent on this darling, whom Fortune in one of her caprices dandles for a few seconds in her arms, like some pretty child, and then allows to drop on the pavement. The enamelled faces of the mermaids are turned towards him; and the rustling of their fins and tail is heard, as they come swimming round a new prey. I drew near to him, and heard him tell a friend behind, "I must have got more than a thousand out of them," and a voice that I know says, in its accustomed drawl, "Now is the time then, sack 'em, and you'll have the glory of being the first to break the bank this season." I knew it seemed intrusive, but I could not resist saying, in a low voice, "Now is the time to retire. Luck always changes."

The soapstone face was stretched round to look. "Oh! Grainger's friend," he said. "This is the gentleman I was telling you of, who has the system ——"

"I have no system," I said, coolly.

"I was wrong, then, it seems," he went on. "The gentleman who preaches against the bank one day, and for his infallible system the next."

The young fellow was naturally not attending.

"Confound it!" he said. "The luck is turning. I have got nothing these last three turns. I'll take his advice, and carry off what I have bagged. Come, and let us count. Here's Grainger. Look here, Grainger, my boy!"

It was now about half-past eleven. Soon the mystic proclamation would be heard—"Aux trois derniers!" Grainger's eyes sparkled with an unholy fire of envy—possibly of disappointment, for I would not do him wrong—as he looked on the glittering treasure which the other was holding in his hand as though it were so much mould. But he turned to me suddenly.

"Here, Pollock, let me introduce a friend of mine—the hero of that little story which your brother knows."

I remembered there was a Captain Pollock in the regiment at that time, and I remember, Dora, being ludicrously jealous one night, at your dancing with him.

"Oh, indeed!" said the young fellow who had won. "I recollect. Poor Grainger was left out in the cold. But I tell you what; I'll stand a supper at Chevet's for the whole party—neat meat, neat wines, neat everything. Come, no excuse. The winner pays for all, and we'll count the cash between the courses."