JELLICOE’S “JAMES."

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 24, Issue 19, 11 March 1913, Page 2

JELLICOE’S “JAMES."

A TALE OF THE WEST-END. (By Charles Stephen, in “Modern Man.’’) “Paper, sir 7 Three-thirty winner and prices ?” The rubicund and everoptimistic purveyor of 1 ‘fourth editions ” and ‘‘‘six-thirties,” whose pitch was outside Blucher’s Bar in the Haymarket, poked his head into the latter establishment and looked round hopefully. Hi's weather-beaten cloth-tap disappeared, with surprising swiftness whan he became aware that the sole occupant of the bar, for the moment, was Mr. Egmont Alastair Jcllicoe, whose gaze alternated uneasily between a pair of highly-pol-ished patent boots and an empty tankard on the table in front of him.

As the newspaper-seller had, only that morning, earned a sixpenny bit from Egmont Alastair for having deposited a pair of Egmont’s sleevelinks in the custody of a neighbouring pawn-broker, whereby Egmont became temporarily richer to the extent of two shillings and sixpence, he hardly felt justified in importuning his benefactor for further custom, What is more, the fact of the tankard being empty, told him that Jellicoe’s pocket suffered from a similar disorder.

Jellicoe stretched out a listless hand for a three-weeks-old “Sketch” that reposed on the empty welsh rarebit-heater on the counter. His eye wandered dully for the 9th time that day over Miss Belle Bareleg’s latest testimonial to Somebody’s Scent, just as the imposing form of Mr. Herbert Trevelyan appeared' through the swing-doors.

There was a lot of Mr. Trevelyan. His Homhurg hat was perched on a head that, in keeping with a six-foot-two stature, was large and massive ; and his shoes shone resplendently, and his double-breasted dovecoloured waistcoat would have been truly magnificent had not one or two brownish stains, which to the expert eye betrayed spilled Guinnesses, spoiled it for true beauty. “Hallo, Jelly,” said Mr. Trevelyan. “How’s the game ?” ", Rotten,” said Mr. Jellicoe. “Haven’t seen a dam soul.’ Don’t know where they can have got to, cither. By the way”—be looked wistfully at the brimming glass of stout that the barmaid was handing to the other—‘‘‘will it run to two’penn’rth, Trevy ?” Mr. Trevelyan,, who, previous to his entrance, had carefully secreted in the top breast-pocket of the afore-men-tioned waistcoat, produced three pennies gloomily from his trouserpocket.

“Sorry, old man, but it can’t be done,” he said. “I only had a tanner on me when I came in, an’ this is the change. You could have it like,' a shot, only I’ve got to go to H'jghgate to play some fool a game of snooker, an’ I want it for my fare. I’m bound to win this game, otherwise I shouldn’t be playin’ it, and as there’s a fiver on it you can have a hit later on if you want it.” “Ta, old man,” said Egmont Alastair. ' ‘Got a cigarette, Jelly ?” was the other’s next utterance. Mr. Jellicoe dived into his inner coat-pocket for a cigarette case, which he opened and disclosed empty. He knew it would be, because he alwhys kept it so, for reasons good. A packet containing seven unsmoked Gold Flakes was secreted elsewhere on his person, but of these he said nothing. His eye, which has been flshlike in its gloom, suddenly brightened with hope as a figure darkened the opaque glass of the door. “ Who’s this coming in?” he muttered. Trevelyan craned forward excitedly in his seat, “A mug,” he whispered into Jellicoe’s ear. '“l’ve met him before, and I’ll introduce you. I’ve no time to wangle him myself, but you can, so long as I’m on halves for the intro.”

“ Right,” said Jelly, and relapsed into silence, as a short* stocky mfln with a bushy moustache waxed into long points and with a general air of blatant bounderishness, came up and shook hands with Trevelyan. The latter drew forward the shyly retiring Jellicoe, to introduce him to the newcomer, and soon all three were imbibing beer at that gentleman’s expense.

“Here’s luck, Wickham,” said Trevelyan, raising his glass, and the wish was echoed only a little less familiarly by Jellicoe, who lifted! his tankard with an engaging smile. “Hooray, boys,” was Mr. Wickham’s acknowledgment. His hand, which rested in the pocket of his trousers, was jingling and evidently considerable number of coins therein ; and the glances that passed between his two companions | were significant that he was asking | for trouble. Mr. Trevelyan, with a careless excuse to the effect that he must be in the City before the banks closed, sauntered out. Mr. Jellicoe felt that the moment had come. He engaged the other in an animated conversation. It" began w'ith the prospects of the horses in | the next day’s big race, and passed j by easy stages to the big cheque that he (Mr. Jellicoe) was to receive j from bis bookmaker on thej morrow. The other’s eyes opened, and Bgmont; Alastair struck while the iron was hot. ' ‘But the dooce of it is, I’m so in- 1 fern’lly broke to-day,” he complain- j ed, in a carefully-studied drawl. I •"D’you know, I hate to do such a : thing—especially on so short an ac-1 quaintance—but you look such a j thundrin’ good feller, that I’m hanged if I won't risk it. . . .’’He smiled; engagingly, and then proceeded with ! easy confidence. “My very dear chap

1 sbo iici be most tromcndo"sly obliged if you could lend me the f:stivq James—a Jimmy o’ Goblin, ha .! ha 1 until I gat my bookie’s cheque tomorrow. I’ll give you my card and an 1.0. U., if you like. ...” “Don’t bother about them,” said the other, heartily. “Here you are,” • diving into his pocket. “Don’t say, a word about it.” j Their hands met, and Mr. Jellicoe' bestowed gleefully in a safe place a coin which he recognised by the "‘feel” as a sovereign; '“What a mu g he is !” was his internal comment ; and he cheerfully spent a sixpence, which he had hitherto carefully hoarded, on two! drinks. j **«*•*! Half an hour later Mr. Jellicoe; having left his friend, sat down in a quiet, old-world chop-house in Glasshouse Street, and ordered a substantial meal—a steak, potatoes, greens, cheese and celery, a foaming tan card of beer, and all manner of good things. He felt he deserved them. As the savour of the grilling steak came gratefully to his nostrils’ his thoughts turned sweetly to the | sovereign in his pocket. As is the custom among gentry of his kind, he would, he thought, expectorate on it as an offering to Fortune. He pulled it out and— swore, silently but with great ferocity. Luckily for him he was near the door. Grabbing his hat and stick he ran, and was in the crowd in Piccadilly before his exit was noticed. I Then, before retracing his steps to the Blucher Arms, he cast bitterly] under the wheels of a passing taxi a ‘ Coronation medal.