CHAPTER V.
AT THE PANDEMONIUM CLUB.
It was Wednesday night; over forty men sat down to the house-dinner atthe Pandemonium Club. As usual the dinner was _recherche_, for thePandemonium _chef_ enjoyed a world-wide reputation. It is to be fearedthat the attractions of the house-dinner were not the sole inducement tomany of those sitting there. A house-dinner always secured a large partyin the card-room afterwards, and though the Pandemonium was a celebrateddining club, it was notoriously also a gambling one. Though thePandemonium was a gambler's paradise, and many scandals had occurredthere, yet the dirty linen had been always washed at home, and the exactdetails of these affairs had never leaked out. Young Spooner, of theForeign Office, Sir John Spooner's, the Warwickshire baronet, eldestson, had certainly left London as fourth secretary to the TeheranEmbassy, where he still remained; while Rolls, a briefless barrister,who was fond of backing himself at the whist table, had taken his nameoff the books, though he had honourably paid his losses, and suddenlyaccepted the not over-brilliant position of an Assistant-Judgeship onthe Gold Coast: pay there was high and promotion rapid, but no one hadever been known to live long enough to take a pension.
Magnums of the driest and most expensive champagne seemed to be thefavourite beverage. But the whisters as a rule drank claret, inanticipation of the more serious _business_ that was sure to follow theweekly house-dinner. Captains Spotstroke and Pool were equally careful;the rest of those present drank freely. The elaborate dessert wasfollowed by a general move. Old Sir Peter Growler and Canon Drivel,D.D., retired to the smoke-room, where they retailed their old, butexceedingly improper anecdotes, to a select circle of the very youngestmen. In the billiard-room, pool at half sovereign lives, was commenced,and promised to run into the small hours--a sure harvest for CaptainsSpotstroke and Pool. In confidence it may be said that Spotstroke'slittle place in the south of Ireland only existed in his ownimagination, his rents being entirely derived from his skill with hiscue, and the certain income that he extracted from the very safe littlebook that he made on most of the great events of the year. A smallcontingent of the members hurried off to applaud the successful comicopera of the hour.
The card-room attracted its usual _habitues_, these sat down to whist;and if an unskilled unfortunate joined the fatal tables, he soon hadreason to regret his temerity. Pound points were habitually played atthe Pandemonium, and as the evening went on, though the points nevervaried, betting among the players and the "gallery" usually becameextremely heavy. Discussions never arose at the whist tables of thisrather fast club, for the players had Cavendish and Pole at theirfingers' ends. General Pepper, C.B., had raised his eyes in unfeignedastonishment and horror, when an old Worcestershire baronet, hispartner, once made a reference to Hoyle, and professed himselfunacquainted with "the Peter." Needless to say, the Worcestershirebaronet had returned to his ancestral acres a sadder but a wiser man. Heshowed his wisdom in giving the Pandemonium card-room a very wide berthfor the rest of his days. He subsequently had the good sense to join thecomic opera division, and to finish his evenings with the undeniableoysters, for which the Pandemonium is so celebrated. No one was everseen at this well-known club after lunch time or before dinner, save afew miserable veterans, to whom perpetual whist was a necessity. Thebulk of the servants even, only commenced their daily duties at dusk,while the steward never appeared till the dinner hour; but then he, poorman, had to be to the fore all night, for it was a stern rule in thecard-room that I O U's were never seen, the play being always for readymoney, in notes and gold. Mr. Levison, the amiable steward (originallyfrom Hamburg), had a very Pactolus ready for the accommodation, for aconsideration, of his numerous masters, in his iron safe. Levison'srelations think he will cut up well at his death; Levison's relationsare right.
It is one in the morning. Though it is in the height of summer thePandemonium card-room is cool; they burn wax candles here, and gas isabsolutely banished from this particular chamber of the club, wherefortunes are sometimes lost and won. In most club card-rooms smoking isnot permitted, but at the Pandemonium it is the fashion to smokeeverywhere. One whist table only is at work; General Pepper and threeold hands of the same kidney are hard at it. The four old men rub theirblear old eyes at the conclusion of each deal, and then pull down theirfaultless cuffs over their eager and bony old hands. The card tableprofitably occupies some six to eight hours daily of these old fellows'attention. There is not much harm in it after all. Probably none of themare very much the better or very much the worse at the end of the year;their sole ambition is the saving of a game, particularly when there isa good "gallery" to admire their efforts. One dreaded Nemesis awaitsthese men--the inevitable day when memory will begin to fail, and theyshall trump their partner's best card. Or the still more horribleapprehension of dimness of sight; for a pair of wicked old eyes will notlast for ever; then the unhappy old player will begin to revoke, andfind himself perforce relegated to "bumble-puppy," or towhiskey-and-water and solemn slumbers in the smoke-room, or, morehorrible still, the prolonged society of Sir Peter Growler and CanonDrivel, D.D.
Rule XXXV. of the club states that "Cards, chess and billiards may beplayed. The sum played for shall not exceed one pound points; no play ispermitted after two a.m." Rule XXXVI. says, "No game of hazard shall onany account be played in the club-house." Rule XXXVII. sternly goes onto assert that "any deviation from the last two rules shall be attendedwith expulsion." Truly good and moral regulations. But these Draconiclaws are, unfortunately, a dead letter. Nothing is said in them aboutbets. As in all clubs, only members enter the card-room; and most of themembers come to "flutter," as they term it, and to "flutter" heavily.
In the centre of the room is an oval table; some dozen men are sittingat it; as many more stand behind their chairs. Two many-branchedcandelabra, holding wax lights, brilliantly illuminate the game. YoungLamb, who six months ago ran a "tick" for "tuck" at Eton, and trembled_coram paedagogo_, sits, his eyes bloodshot, as, with nails driven intohis palms, he watches, in an anguish of excitement, the movements of thedealer. Young Lamb's big cigar has been out long ago; but he pulls hardat it, wholly unaware of the fact. It is easy enough to distinguish,among those who smoke at least, the more innocent from the habitualgamblers; the cigars of these latter, even at the most exciting crises,are steadily smoked at a uniform rate, while the new hand is continuallytaking a light, as often blowing sudden vast clouds, or his cigar allunknown to him goes out, as has been described. Your young player, too,sits with his feet tucked tightly under his chair; he never moves them,and consequently suffers much from that hitherto undescribeddisease--that awful pain across the knees, which, for want of a bettername, may be called "gamblers' rheumatism." Are you quite sure you havenever suffered from this rather common disorder, gentle reader, atleast, if you be of the male sex? Perhaps you may remember havingoccasionally walked home through the rain, utterly cleared out, withouteven the needful silver for a cab, with a dry throat, and finding outfor the first time what "gamblers' rheumatism" really means. If so, itis to be hoped that, wise man as you are, the first attack of thisdisorder was also your last. But at the Pandemonium matters never wentto the extremity of a member suffering the degradation of having to walkhome in the rain. Was not kind Mr. Levison ever to the fore, with hisneat little _rouleaux_ of sovereigns, and his fat pocket-book full ofnew and crisp bank-notes? Levison, as he sat at the little table in thecorner, on which were writing materials and many packs of new cards,never refused a loan in so many words. "I wouldn't go on if I were you,sir; the luck's dead against you to-night; I wouldn't go on, indeed Iwouldn't." This was his invariable formula. It meant that the astuteHebrew declined to do business on any terms. No one ever argued withLevison; all understood that this particular phrase was final. Theunhappy applicant was naturally obliged to temporarily retire from thegame, at all events for that night. No man would have been idiot enoughto have asked a loan from a fellow player; that would have been quitecontrary to the unwritten code of ethics of the Pand
emonium Club:fathers have flinty hearts, but no fathers are so proverbiallyflinty-hearted as the fathers of the card-room.
Among the players were the usual club _habitues_. They are much the sameeverywhere, the only difference being their clothes. The _viveurs_ atthe Pandemonium, in their faultless evening dress; the _gommeux_ atMonte Carlo, in their tall collars and their shiny boots; theBohemians, in their tobacco-scented and eccentric garments; or thethieves playing at sixpenny loo in St. Luke's--all these people are atheart the same. But we must not class in this unclean category LordSpunyarn and his friend Haggard, who were both playing at the big table.Haggard merely played for the excitement, and Spunyarn because it was alesser bore to play than to look on.
The game was baccarat.
The table is covered with a tightly-stretched green cloth, which isdivided by yellow lines into fourteen spaces; two larger ones in thecentre of the table are the places of the banker and the croupier;twelve other spaces of a smaller size indicate the seats of the rest ofthe players, or "punters," as they are technically termed. The table isfull, as has been stated: a bank has just been terminated, and thebanker retires, having lost the whole amount of his bank. The croupier,who is, of course, a professional--a bald Frenchman, nominally one ofthe card-room waiters--looks round the table with the air of anauctioneer. "Fifty pounds--seventy-five--a hundred--two hundred--twohundred and fifty--three hundred; thank you, sir. Mr. Haggard takes thebank, gentlemen, at three hundred pounds."
Haggard rises with a smile, seats himself in the dealer's vacant place,opposite the croupier; he places in front of him a pile of gold andnotes. With the rapidity of one of Messrs. Coutts' young men, the Frenchcroupier counts the money; he arranges the gold in little piles, and thenotes in three little heaps, placing a small paper-weight on each heap.Then the croupier tears open two packets of new cards, flinging the oldones into a waste-paper basket at his side. He invites various playersto make the cards; this is done in rather a perfunctory manner. With asort of huge paper-knife the Frenchman passes the cards to Haggard, andas he does so, remarks in a clear, but mechanical voice: "Gentlemen, thebank is opened for three hundred pounds." Haggard takes the cards, and,dividing them into two equal parts, rapidly shuffles them, by raising acorner of each parcel simultaneously, and letting the corners slip witha rapid "brrr." Evidently, from the dexterity and precision with whichthis feat is accomplished, Georgie Warrender's affianced lover is nonovice. He hands the cards to his right-hand neighbour, who carefullycuts them; each player puts forth his stake towards the middle of thetable, in front of the space allotted him. These stakes are gold only asyet, and no man's venture seems over five pounds. Haggard takes up abouta sixth part of the cards. "Gentlemen," cries the croupier, "the game ismade." Haggard places a card to the left, for that half of the table;another at his right, for the other half; a third one he takes himself:he repeats the process. The croupier slips the blade of his hugepaper-knife underneath the two cards which are on either side of thedealer, and deposits them, unexposed, with marvellous adroitness, beforethe punter on either side whose turn it is to play. Court cards and tenscount as nothing, the ace as one; should the player make either eight ornine he invariably rests contented, and exhibits it; if below eight, heexercises his fancy or discretion, and takes or refuses a third card.Then Haggard turns up his own hand, doing precisely the same. He hasdrawn a knave and a six; he takes another card; this turns out to be anace. "I have seven," he says. The player to his right holds eight, theplayer to his left has only six--the right side wins, the left sideloses. In an instant the croupier, with his huge paper-knife, sweeps upthe cards, and, with the rapidity of a conjuring trick, he casts theminto a wooden bowl in the middle of the table; then he rapidly sweepsoff all the stakes on one side of the table; with equal celerity heplaces each man's winnings before the players on the other side. Thereare no quarrels, and no mistakes. Everybody is terribly polite. And sothe game goes on.
Though the amount played for is serious, a good deal of rather baldconversation and chaff goes on. There is a considerable amount of giveand take. If any one has lost his temper, as well as his money, he takesgood care not to show it; to do so here would be indeed bad form. YoungLamb has already paid several visits to Mr. Levison's little table.Haggard's deal goes on, no very startling _coup_ coming off, but it hasbeen a good bank as yet, for the pile in front of Haggard has increasedto nearly six hundred pounds. Young Lamb having gnawed his extinguishedcigar till it somewhat resembles a quid, and having consequentlyswallowed a considerable amount of nicotine, flings it away with acurse. As the last note of his last loan from Levison is swept up bythe remorseless _pelle_ (for so the gigantic paper-knife is technicallytermed), Lamb gives an order to the waiter, and pays another visit tothe smiling little Jew. Their business is rapidly transacted; Lambredeems some half-dozen I O U's which he had previously given to thesteward, hurriedly signs a formal-looking instrument, which is dulywitnessed, and stuffs into his breast-pocket a big roll of notes, whichhe does not even stop to count. "I do hope you'll be careful, sir,"remarks the steward to Lamb in an affectionate whisper, and in the toneof an anxious mother to her favourite child. Lamb returns to his seat atthe table; he has lost eight hundred pounds already, but the bulgey lumpin his breast-pocket is another five thousand pounds. The waiter placesby his side a small gueridon on which is a little _carafe_ of greenChartreuse and a liqueur-glass; he also hands to the young fellow a boxof big full-flavoured cigars, of the brand of _Anselmo del Valle_. Lambfills his case, and lights this the _ne plus ultra_ of a soothing weed.
"Dutch courage, Lammy, my boy," remarked Spunyarn, as he calmly helpshimself to one of the youth's cigars.
"You'd be doing the same, Shirtings, if you'd been hit at this beast ofa game as I have."
"Shirtings" was the playful name bestowed on the noble lord, inreference to the well-known fact that the Spunyarn money had been madein a Manchester cotton mill, and with that money it was said that theSpunyarn title had been paid for; the first gentleman in Europe notdisdaining such bargains. Lamb swallows a second glass of his panacea.The real fact is that the boy likes it because it is sweet, theafter-taste indistinctly resembling the distant memories of thepeppermint bull's-eyes of his early youth. But green Chartreuseunhappily is not innocent; it is more than a spirit, it is a powerfuldrug. Fired by this second draught, his tired eyes already a ferretyred, his mouth dry with the tobacco, the drink and the excitement, Lambin a rasping voice shouts, "Banco."
There is a sudden hush. The whist players, who had finished for theevening, hurry to the baccarat table; the other players, some of whomhad already staked their money, reluctantly withdraw their variousamounts. The croupier announces, intoning as does a high-church curate,"There is seven hundred and forty pounds in the bank, gentlemen."
Lamb with shaking fingers places the required amount in front of him.Haggard, the dealer, apparently unconcerned, continues the game. Thereis a dead silence. Neither dealer or punter take a third card. The cardsare turned. The dealer has an eight and king, the punter a five andthree. _A tie._ The perspiration stands on young Lamb's face; again hiscigar goes out. The croupier pushes the seven hundred and forty poundsof the unlucky player a foot nearer to the bank. The next _coup_ willdecide the matter. If Lamb wins, he will get his own money back, if heloses, then his money is gone for good. Again a dead silence, again thecards are dealt; this time the bank wins; there is a loud noise ofexcited talking, above which rises the monotonous chant of the croupier,"There is fourteen hundred and eighty pounds in the bank, gentlemen."
The wretched young man persistently exercises his right of crying"Banco," and so practically going double or quits each time. But "thecards never forgive," and as a rule Dame Fortune is relentless to thereckless player. Three more _coups_ are played, each of which thebanker, that is to say Haggard, wins. At the end of the third _coup_,Lamb loses, at a single blow, nearly three thousand pounds; he calls thesteward to his side, a short whispered conversation takes place. "Fivethousand nine hundred
and twenty pounds in the bank." Again the youngfellow repeats his fatal "Banco," as he stakes a fresh pile of noteshanded to him by the obsequious Jew. Again he loses. Haggard has won, ofhim alone, eleven thousand pounds. Nobody feels inclined to go on; everyone is rather scandalized, for it is apparent to all that the boy hasbecome suddenly, thoroughly intoxicated.
"Damned shame, I call it," growled old General Pepper, who in his heartenvied Haggard his luck. "Why, the man's drunk, beastly drunk, sir."
Haggard rises, glaring at old Pepper in a menacing manner. "Am I toregard your remark as any insinuation upon me, General Pepper?" he saidfiercely.
"I say it's a damned shame," repeated the veteran.
The hubbub became general. What was to be done? Of course, there wouldbe a scandal, but in the eyes of most men at the Pandemonium Club,Haggard was not to be blamed, he was merely to be envied. Probably thereal fact was that the weak young fellow was suddenly carried off hislegs by the repeated draughts of the fiery cordial, the effect of whichonly became apparent to the on-lookers after the final bet had been madeand the game had recommenced. Who shall cast a stone, then, at Haggard?He merely backed his luck, as the saying is. There was nothing unfairabout the matter. But the nasty part of the whole thing was, thatHaggard had won eleven thousand pounds from a weak-headed boy. Thesociety newspapers for the week alluded to the matter in veiled, butunmistakable terms. And when Haggard announced to his friend Spunyarnhis intention of returning to America, to realize his property, on thetermination of his wedding tour, the young lord acquiesced in thatdecision, casually remarking, "It would be as well if you fought shy abit, you know, old man, for I am heartily sick of being bothered aboutthe baccarat matter, and of looking in the paper to see if that youngprig Lamb has hung himself. Ta ta, you lucky beggar. I shall be to thefore at your diggings to-morrow, in the regulation shiny boots." Theyparted.
Next day Reginald Haggard was to lead Georgina Warrender to the altar,and Spunyarn's allusion to shiny boots merely referred to the fact thathe was to be his friend Haggard's best man.