trowsers
That shine to me like diamonds bright!
He remarked: 'Although Cupid is said to have been a beautiful boy, I think it both foolish and unnatural to worship at any shrine save that of his mother Venus.'
The next song happened to be 'Here's a health to the King and a Lasting Peace', bawled by a tremendous basso; and Will nudged me delightedly with his oyster-knife at the lines:
And may misfortune still pursue
The senseless woman-hating crew . . .
Soon after eleven o'clock we slipped out. Will called a cab and we drove to Moss's, a first-class hell in the aristocratic neighbourhood of St James's Street. Moss's had a bright fanlight over the door, and a police constable stood guard on either side of the entrance. They had orders to take account of all visitors, their style of dress and apparent station in life; and hoped to be rewarded for their quiet 'good-night' with a half-crown, or a good cigar. 'Many little perquisites like these solace the arduous duties of the West-End peeler,' Will told me confidentially, as he pulled at an ivory bell-knob.
At once, as in the children's story of the White Cat, the portals flew open. In we went, and they closed behind us as if by magic. Wc found ourselves faced by a second door, iron-panelled and covered with green baize, from the centre of which a gleaming eye viewed us through a small square aperture. When Will nodded affably, an iron bar swung back, two bolts were shot, we mounted a flight of softly-carpeted stairs, and I was at last introduced to the mysteries of a London gambling-house. Splendid rooms they were: brilliantly lighted, warmly curtained, much-mirrored; and in one of them stood a table spread with cold fowl, ham, tongue, beef and salads. 'These are provided gratis,' said Will, 'and so are the wines, spirits and cigars. Help yourself at Rabbi Moss's expense!'
Seeing me somewhat embarrassed by my situation, he muttered jovially: 'Cheer up, my hearty! Though you may not be one of Swan & Edgar's young men, nobody will mistake you for anything but the gentleman you are. Step over to the gaming table!'
This was an ordinary billiard table, furnished with cushions, pockets, and a rack of cues to disguise its illegal employ. Police raids had been frequent lately, and no sooner did the alarm go, than a billiard game began. As an added precaution, the lame croupier, a sharp-looking, wiry manikin, dispensed with the rake in vogue at Baden-Baden and Aix—using instead a hooked stick which was also his crutch. He called the odds, never making the slightest miscalculation; and a tall, blond-moustached, handsome man shook the dice box. Will told me afterwards that the latter was of noble family, held a commission in the Blues, and did not come here in the hope of pecuniary gain. It was merely to pass the time on his way home from the club, for he had a horror of going to bed. Two years later I saw this same swell leaning against the orchestra at the Opera, and examining the house through an enormous tortoiseshell lorgnette. He is now dead: killed at Balaclava with the Heavy Brigade, I understand.
'Seven's the main!' the blond moustache shouted.
'Seven's the main!' echoed the croupier. 'Make your game, please. The castor's backing in at seven, gentlemen!'
Down came the box, o ut rolled the dice. 'Eleven's th e nick,' said the croupier. Stakes were raked in with the crutch, winners paid, and a fresh main called a quarter of a minute later.
Will ventured a five-pound note, and lost. Presently a bright th ought occurred to him. 'Confess, lad,' said he, 'have you ever played ?'
'Never,' I answered, 'and don't intend to.' 'Ah, but for me you surely will? I'll lay heavily on your virgin luck.'
'I haven't a shilling in my pocket,' I protested.
'Then here's a couple of sovereigns,' he said. 'I'll stake you. Lose, and it costs you naught. Win, and we go snags.'
Very reluctantly I placed the two coins on the nearest number. The main was again called, the dice shaken, and
That shine to me like diamonds bright!
He remarked: 'Although Cupid is said to have been a beautiful boy, I think it both foolish and unnatural to worship at any shrine save that of his mother Venus.'
The next song happened to be 'Here's a health to the King and a Lasting Peace', bawled by a tremendous basso; and Will nudged me delightedly with his oyster-knife at the lines:
And may misfortune still pursue
The senseless woman-hating crew . . .
Soon after eleven o'clock we slipped out. Will called a cab and we drove to Moss's, a first-class hell in the aristocratic neighbourhood of St James's Street. Moss's had a bright fanlight over the door, and a police constable stood guard on either side of the entrance. They had orders to take account of all visitors, their style of dress and apparent station in life; and hoped to be rewarded for their quiet 'good-night' with a half-crown, or a good cigar. 'Many little perquisites like these solace the arduous duties of the West-End peeler,' Will told me confidentially, as he pulled at an ivory bell-knob.
At once, as in the children's story of the White Cat, the portals flew open. In we went, and they closed behind us as if by magic. Wc found ourselves faced by a second door, iron-panelled and covered with green baize, from the centre of which a gleaming eye viewed us through a small square aperture. When Will nodded affably, an iron bar swung back, two bolts were shot, we mounted a flight of softly-carpeted stairs, and I was at last introduced to the mysteries of a London gambling-house. Splendid rooms they were: brilliantly lighted, warmly curtained, much-mirrored; and in one of them stood a table spread with cold fowl, ham, tongue, beef and salads. 'These are provided gratis,' said Will, 'and so are the wines, spirits and cigars. Help yourself at Rabbi Moss's expense!'
Seeing me somewhat embarrassed by my situation, he muttered jovially: 'Cheer up, my hearty! Though you may not be one of Swan & Edgar's young men, nobody will mistake you for anything but the gentleman you are. Step over to the gaming table!'
This was an ordinary billiard table, furnished with cushions, pockets, and a rack of cues to disguise its illegal employ. Police raids had been frequent lately, and no sooner did the alarm go, than a billiard game began. As an added precaution, the lame croupier, a sharp-looking, wiry manikin, dispensed with the rake in vogue at Baden-Baden and Aix—using instead a hooked stick which was also his crutch. He called the odds, never making the slightest miscalculation; and a tall, blond-moustached, handsome man shook the dice box. Will told me afterwards that the latter was of noble family, held a commission in the Blues, and did not come here in the hope of pecuniary gain. It was merely to pass the time on his way home from the club, for he had a horror of going to bed. Two years later I saw this same swell leaning against the orchestra at the Opera, and examining the house through an enormous tortoiseshell lorgnette. He is now dead: killed at Balaclava with the Heavy Brigade, I understand.
'Seven's the main!' the blond moustache shouted.
'Seven's the main!' echoed the croupier. 'Make your game, please. The castor's backing in at seven, gentlemen!'
Down came the box, o ut rolled the dice. 'Eleven's th e nick,' said the croupier. Stakes were raked in with the crutch, winners paid, and a fresh main called a quarter of a minute later.
Will ventured a five-pound note, and lost. Presently a bright th ought occurred to him. 'Confess, lad,' said he, 'have you ever played ?'
'Never,' I answered, 'and don't intend to.' 'Ah, but for me you surely will? I'll lay heavily on your virgin luck.'
'I haven't a shilling in my pocket,' I protested.
'Then here's a couple of sovereigns,' he said. 'I'll stake you. Lose, and it costs you naught. Win, and we go snags.'
Very reluctantly I placed the two coins on the nearest number. The main was again called, the dice shaken, and
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