London (England) -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
'A noisy end, Will, is it not? We always finish this way. The young
fellow who smashed the glass is Lord St. Osyth. To-morrow morning he
will have to pay the bill. 'Tis a good-natured fool. See: they are
carrying out the last of the drunken hogs. Faugh! How drunk they are!'
'I have watched you all the evening, Madame. Believe me, there were none
of the ladies who approached you in the minuet.'
'Naturally, Will. For I have danced it on the stage, where we can at
least surpass the minuet of the Assembly. What do they understand of
action and carriage, and how to bear the body and how to use the arms
and how to handle the fan? But it was not to talk about my
dancing--Will--I said that perhaps I should be able to show you
something or to tell you something--that might astonish you. Come with
me: but first--I would not have you recognised, put on this
domino'--there were a good many lying about--'So--Now follow me and
prepare for the greatest surprise of your whole life.'
In the hall there were still many waiting for their carriages and
chairs. Outside, there was a crowd now closing in upon the carriages,
and now beaten back by Madame's men who were armed with clubs and kept
the pickpockets and thieves at bay. And there was a good deal of
bawling, cursing, and noise.
Madame led the way into the card-room. Play had apparently been going on
all night: the candles on the table were burning low: the players had
nearly all gone: the servants were taking the shillings from under the
candlesticks: at the long table, two or three were still left: they were
not playing: they were settling up their accounts.
A young fellow got up as we came in. 'What's the good of crying, Harry?'
he said, to his companion. 'I've dropped five hundred. Well--better luck
to-morrow.'
'Poor lad!' said Madame. 'That morrow will never come. 'Tis a pretty
lad: I am sorry for him. He will end in a Debtors' Prison or he will
carry a musket in the ranks.'
They were settling, one by one, with the player who had held the Bank
for the evening. There were no disputes: they had some system by means
of which their loses or gains were represented by counters. The business
of the conclusion was the paying or receiving of money as shown by their
counters which were accepted as money. For instance, if a person took so
many counters he incurred so much liability. But, I do not understand
what were the rules. The man who held the Bank was, I heard afterwards,
one of those who live by keeping the Bank against all comers. He was an
elderly man of fine manners, extremely courtly in his behaviour and his
dress. One by one he received the players, of whom there were a dozen or
so, and examined their liabilities or their claims. There was left but
one of the players, a man whose back was turned to me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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