THE BANK THAT BROKE THE MAN

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXX, Issue XI, 14 March 1903, Page 743

THE BANK THAT BROKE THE MAN

The last time I was staying down in Wellington. I was one day eating my lunch in a certain well-known restaurant. in company with Jarvis an 1 Mathieson. two casual acquaint mces. The talk turned on the prevalence of the gambling spirit in the colony—a subject on which there had Wen a good deal of writing in the Wellington papers la'ey. Mathieson. who is fond of mora ising. took the talk into his own han’s an! made me restive with his wordy commonplaces. So. out of a spirit of mischief. I started questioning hi* pien is -s ami denying his conclusions. 1 poohpoohed his lurid pictures of the state of things produced by the gambling passion in Wellington and throughout the colony, and represented myself as convinced that people attended races in New Zealand chiefly for the pleasure of seeing the horses run. and that games of chance were never played, in club or private house, for stakes that rose above a merely nominal value. Jarvis did not join in the talk, but as he ate his lunch he listened, and occasionally smiled. Mathieson waxed quite eloquent in his efforts to make me realise that New Zealand society, in all its few grades, was festering in the grip of a master vice. But his efforts had been conspicuously unsuccessful, as far as he himself could see. when duty called him. reluctant, back to his office. Duty, less exacting with Jarvis and me, allowed us to stroll down and have a smoke on the wharf. ""Good old Mathieson.” said Jarvis, with his eye absently fixed on a couple of youths industriously not catching fish, “was just now speaking from hearsay, enlarged by his own virtuous imagination, but he chanced to speax truth even in his str nge*t statements. 1 can tell you. from personal knowledge, that, here in Wellington, a tremendous amount of gaming goes on both openly and secretly. The fan-tan playing of the Celestials is not in it with the merry gambling that prevails generally in society in this city.” “Though, of course. 1 was only "pulling Mathieson*- leg * by pretending to believe that the simple-minded folk of this colony scarcely ever think of backing their luck at the card-table or the races, all the same I’m persuaded/’ said I. “that this cry about gambling has been chiefly raised by the alarmist, w no is too much abroad in these days.” “There’s nothing of the alarmist about me.” said Jarvis, smiling. “And. per sonally, I see no harm in gambling. Yet I assure you that what I have said about gambling in this city rather understates than over-states the case.” “Oh. come How!” 1 remonstrated. “You speak as if Wellington was dotted all over with gambling hells.” “Scarcely that,” returned Janis, pla-

cidly. “but anyone seeking a miniature Monte Carlo establishment in this town would certainly find a g< <»d many to pick and choose among b ’tween Newtown and Thorndon.” But I scoffed at the notion—what 1 really wanted was to prick Jarvis to the point of pr< ving his wonts for 1 scent el interesting revelations. Naturally, finding my scepticism annoying. he tried to demolish it by giving me. with great circumspection, some details. But at length, finding these did not convince, he grew impatient ami less discreet. “Well. 1 don’t suppose you’ll refuse to believe your own eyes.” he said. “Come with me to-night, and you'll see for yourself whether I’m talking rot or not. I’ve the entree of a cert a n pl c» into which I my introduce a friend if I answer for his bringing no one into trouble over what may come to thi* knowledge there.” Jarvis looked me straight in the eyes. “1 think 1 can answer for you?’’ I gave him all the assurances he wanted. I do not violate these by writing down n w what I learned through him. 1 shall be careful to say nothing that could possibly lead to the harmful identification of any person. That evening, about nine o’clock. Jar vis called for me in a hansom, and we were driven to a certain house in a pleasant part of the town. It was a large, comfortable-looking house. ""It has entrances from two streets.” remarked Jarvis, casually, as we walked up to the front door. “Which is something of an advantage to its present owner and occupant, who every evening has what would be a conspicuously large number of visitors if they all entered h\ the same door.” The windows seemed all lighted and the strains of a popular waltz, inviting to young ears, floated out into the night. “I suppose there is a dance on.” said Jarvis. “There often is. for the girls ai mad on dancing. Giddy young things they are. but without an ounce of harm in them. I’ll go bail they don’t suspecs how their father comes by the money he lets them have to -pend so freely. But I think the wife must know.” A smart maid servant admitted us in to the hall ami took our coats and hats from us. “Our visit is to Air Z ,” said Jarvis, “but if Mrs Z is at home, we should like tc see her for a short time first.” So we were shown into a large, weilappolnted drawing-room, in which wen four ladies ami a couple of men—one of these las was a very callow looking lad whom an old lad\ seemed to be instructing in the art of winding knitting wool. The other was a

handsome young man. who was more pleasantly engaged talking to a very pretty girl at the other end of the room I easily divined the girl to be a da light vi of the house from her likeness to Mi Z . who was just then very gracious ly welcoming me as Mr Jarvis’ friend. Airs Z was a well-bred, intelligent woman, with plenty of vivacity, and the half-hour we spent in her drawingroom was a distinctly entertaining on< As 1 took in the pleasant homely aspect of the room—the pair of lovers talking together in low tones on the distant settee—the kindly old grandmother with her busy knitting needles—the lady of the house making mild fun out of the debates of our legislatorat that afternoon’s sitting — with the callow youth and a colourless lady of uncertain age helping to till in a picture of comfortable domestic life, that must have its replicas in thousands of colonial homes—it was difficult for me to realise that, under this sime roof, the master of the house ran a ver;, successful gaming saloon—if Jarvis had spoken truth. Yet a closer observation suggested that there was not that pla cidity on the brow of the old lady whir!: should have accompanied the click of her knitting needles: that, in the bright, quick talk of our hostess there was now and then a suspicion of nervous strain, and that the young fellow at the end of the room had not his thoughts wholly fixed, as they ought to have been, on ’he pretty girl by his side. Presently the door was abruptly open ed. and another girl, scarcely out of her schooldays, came, like a breeze, into the room. Her charming little face wore a pour. “It’s no manner ot use trying to gc. up an impromptu dance in this house, mother, the men always sneak off to the smoking room and billiards, * she exclaimed, with childish vehemence. “Maimie and 1 and the other girls have been doing our best, and Jeanie Durham has been playing the most ra visiting waltzes: yet as soon as our backs are turned the seifi-n things slip awa\ one by one. ' Here she caught sight of Jarvis, and implored hi- assistance. He based a firm refusal on his lack ot dancing pumps Only a conspicuous lack of youth on m\ part kept the eager child from asking me to help. “Well, then, Mr Green can come.' she cried. “You don't want to wind anv more wool for granny, do you. Ah Green? Then there’s Air Ardviston. Hilda, you and Mr Ardviston should wi tainly Ln* in the other room with u-.’ The handsome young man. glad of the interruption seemingly, rose at once from the sofa and came forward with Incompanion. ”1 should have liked to stay and join you very much, Miss Nellie.” he -aid. hurriedly. “But 1 can’t to-night, thank you. Ami I’ve got to see Mr Z . to« Indore I go.” ‘"Oh. Ixither dad and you too!” said

Miss .Xcllie rudely. While her mother reproved the spoilt child in a sharp little speech, her sister found an opportunity to murmur to young Ardvi st on. “You are leaving me very early. Jack!” “Dearest. I must!” My quick ears caught his reply. “To-night decides whether you ami happiness are to l»e mine, or whether -** he paused. "But you are >urely never going to speak to father to-night about—about u* two?” she asked, surprised. “1 mav— it all depends on my luck.” and with this odd answer he turned quickly awa\ and took his leave of bi* A few minutes later -lai vis and I hade her good-night and left the room. But we did not leave the house. He led tin* way to the back of the building, to a room at the end of a side passage. It was a billiard and smoking room combined. and was of goodly size. From Miss Xrllir** remarks 1 had ex pected to find it full of the defaulting dancer*. But the only person in it was a pale, sharp-feat ured young man. in ev< n ing dre** who was listlessly knocking about the balls on the table. Jarvis introduced him to me as a son of Mr. Z- ’s. “Of course. Jarvis, you want to see the pater.” *aid the sharp-featured voting man. But your friend I hope he means to give me the pleasure of hi* company and have a try with the bill* here ?” “Oh. no. nothing will suit his | M »<»k but an interview with the Ih»ss.” said Jarvis laughing. "It's all right. Hubert he’s t rue blue.’’ Hubert shut a keen glance at me. “Oh, well, you know the way to the pater’s sanctum, Jarvis.’’ he said indifferently as he resumed his cue. Jarvis crossed the room and stepped behind a stork-emblazoned Japanese screen. It enclosed nothing but a small piece of the room and a long mirror fixed to the .vail and reaching from the floor to the height of the top of the screen. Jarvis touched some spring in the frame of the mirror, and it noiselessly slid back, revealing an open doorway ami a flight of steps lea.ling downwards. He motioned me to go down, ami followed at mv heels, .losing the mirror door liehind him. At the bottom of the stairs on the right was a heavy, baize covered door. Jarvis gave a peculiar tap on this, and it swung open, admitting us into a room brilliantly lighted bv electricity. It was a low room corresponding in sha|>e and size to the billiard and smoking room, which must have been directly above it. It had no windows, and probably had mine into existence first as a large, tin derground cellar. Now. with its rich papersand hangings and earpet and vari ous adornments, a quick imagination was wanted to conceive the original cellar. About twenty men of various ages were seated at a long, curiously-shaped table, in the centre of which was a cavity like

a punch bowl. As soon as my eyes fell on that table, with its central cavity and columns of figures marked at both ends, 1 knew that this secret assembly of men were playing roulette, the game interdicted by law everywhere on the Continent of Europe, save in the gambling principality of Monaco, where 1 myself had seen it played. The players were too intent on their game to look up when Jarvis and I came in, but i could not help seeing that the three men who acted as tailleurs—Mr. Z and his two other sons—had a vigilant eye for us. Presently Mr. Z himself came forward, spoke pleasantly with us for a moment, and accommodated us both with places at the roulette table. 1 did uot find his look prepossessing. His was a hard face, with that suggestion in it of a bird of prey, which often marks the countenances of men who make their gain out of the weaknesses and vices of their fellows.

I played for very low slakes; and had runs of good aud bad luck that equalised each other in the most unexciting manner, and finally sent me out of the house only a few shillings poorer than when I entered it. But 1 paid little heed to the play—it was the players and the bankers who interested me.

As 1 furtively scanned the faces eagerly watching the revolutions of the ivory ball in the bowl-shaped hollow in the table I was disagreeably surprised to find that 1 had more than one acquaintance iu that place, and not a lew of the others were well known to me by sight. Bub the gambling passion animating those faces at the present hour had given so much of a common expression to all of them that at first I did not readily recognise the known from the unknown, hooking at that expression on the countenances of the players, I could almost fancy myself back at Monte Carlo. And if Jarvis’ statements were to be relied on this was only one of many gaming places of resort in a young city in a young pastoral colony! I noticed that the impassive faces and keen, watchful eyes of Mr Z and his two sons showed little of the other gamblers’ look of eager, strained absorption. Perhaps the advantage which their position as baukersgave them over the others enabled them to control the display of their feelings. Among those of the players whom I had been longest in recognising- was the handsome young fellow whom I had set eyes on for the first time that evening in the drawing-room upstairs—young Ardviston. A word from Jarvis as we went from the drawing-room to the smoking-room had told me that he belonged to the Ardvistons of the Wairarapa, one of the best and most highly respected families in the colony. I was sorry to see one of that tine, honest breed in a place like that, still more sorry to see that there was not one of the eager erew at the table who watched the movements of the cursed little sphere of white ivory with an eagerness like his. There was something absolutely painful to witness in the greedy intentness of his look; yet I could not help keeping a covert gaze on him. This young man witli his whole soul centred on the momentary chances of his stake, little thought could he have for the poor little sweetheart upstairs!

So I fancied, but therein I wronged him, as 1 learned later. It was the hope of winning her, mixed with the hope of escaping a shameful disgrace, that flushed his eheek and kindled his eye when a stroke of great good luck sent the ball spinning round the cavity into a hole bearing the number ho had put his stake on, and he raked up thirty-six times its value. And when afterwards the extraordinary good luck he had at first changed into just as extraordinary’ bad luck, and he saw his winnings melting away before his eyes it was the knowledge that a ruined and disgraced man had no chance of marrying pretty Hilda Z , even though it might be her father who was largely responsible for his ruin, which changed his look into one of haggard despair. Luck warred curiously strongly against him. On three separate occasions when he had ventured on one of the chances marked on the edge of the table the ball fell into zero and its next revolution gave his imprisoned stakes to the bank—large stakes they were, too. Such strange persistency in evil

fortune could not but stir the superstitious chords which get developed in every gambler’s nature, and I could see from the reckless misery depleted on poor Ardv iston’s face that he was convinced of his final desertion by the fickle goddess —Chance. Still he played doggedly on. But somehow 1 could not bear to sit there and see the infatuated young man’s last coins vanish. 1 rose and whispered to Jarvis that I had had enough of roulette for one night, and would go home now. Jarvis, who, with the face of Ardviston before his eyes, could profess to “see no harm in gambling,” had all his senses besottingly wrapped up in the game and paid no heed to me. But one of Mr Z 's sons came forward and piloted me upstairs to the other side of the mysterious mirror door. From the billiardroom, where the sharp-featured young Z was refreshing himself with sandwiches and pale ale in the company of a youth of the eallow Mr Green species, I found my way easily enough to the front door. It was close on 12 o’clock, but dance music, played now with lagging emphasis, still sounded through the house, and the trim housemaid was still in attendance to give me my hat and coal and let me out into the moonlit night. I had paused for a moment near the end of the street to light a cigar when 1 heard footsteps on the pavement behind me, and someone passed me, walking very rapidly. It was Jack Ardviston.

“Cleaned out, poor beggar!” I mentally ejaculated, while, remembering his face at the roulette table, I rather wondered that he should take a mere money loss so tragically to heart. That would have been the last that I, or anyone else in the world, would have seen of Jack Ardviston had he not stopped short in his rapid walk at the corner of the street, and paused irresolutely as if he did not know which way to take. This pause made me overtake him iu my turn, and, as I passed, 1 glanced at him.

then, instantly, I made up my mind not to lose sight of this young man for some time if I could possibly help it. The moonlight was strong and clear, and there was no mistaking the purpose written on his desperate face.

A moment later he shot past me with a hasty but resolute step. I followed, quickening my pace to keep him in view. Be turned up one quiet, deserted street and down another, until finally he turned into the road leading to Mitehelltown.

Then 1 ceased to puzzle about his destination. I remembered the old water reservoir nestling in a hollow in the hills on the other side. In that pretty little sheet of water more than one person had found a refuge front a life grown intolerable.

I walked faster, but with such impetuosity had Ardviston torn up the hilly path that, when I, burdened with more years and more flesh, reached the top, he was nowhere in sight.

I ran down the slippery slopes of grass, full of dread lest I should be too late to prevent the half-crazed young man from doing the thing I knew he had it in his mind to do.

When I eame into full view of the artificial lakelet, encircled by trim garden paths, and picturesquely wooded hillside, my heart gave a bound. No human figure was visible in the peaceful, moonlit scene beneath me. 1 feared me Ardviston’s mad deed was done. Then 1 saw that the surface of the water was unruffled, and the next moment my eyes fell upon Ardviston emerging from the shadow of the little garden house, carrying /something in his hand.

He had never seemed to have the faintest suspicion that he was being followed, so wrapt up in his misery was he. Now, as he moved towards the edge of the embankment he had no eyes for me, though I must have been a noticeable enough figure in the. bright, moon light. He stood quite still for a minute on the embankment and stared at the water, aud then at the hills. Then he busied himself fixing what he carried in his hand inside his eoat.

My step on the gravelled path behind him told him, for the first time, that he was not alone.

He sprang round with a sharp cry and faced me. The thing that he had been trying to fasten to his chest, by buttoning his coat over it, fell to the ground. It was a length of old iron, short but very heavy—probably a bit of boat ballast that he had picked up with the view

of insuring his descent to the bottom of the reservoir. I deemed it wisest to speak out straight to the point. “I’m sorry, Mr Ardviston,” said I, "that you can see no way out of your trouble but that!” and I pointed to the water beside us. “How do you know? Who are you?” he stammered, confusedly. “Perhaps you may remember seeing me this evening, for a short time, in Mrs Z 's drawing room?” 1 returned. "Later on I was one of the company at the roulette table where you lost so heavily.” He still stared at nie with wild eyes. "I think I remember you,” he said, after a pause. “You guessed—you thought I meant—and you followed me here.” The words dropped slowly from his lips. “1 knew-—and followed you here.” 1 answered. Another long pause, and then, suddenly, he shook off his stupor. “By what right did you follow me?” he cried fiercely. “1 know my own business and want no d impertinent interference. By what right do yon meddle with what is no concern of yours?” "It is the concern of every man to sec that a fellow-creature doesn't throw away’ his life on a mad impulse,” I rejoined. coolly. “A mad impulse!” ho cried bitterly. “I was- mad enough- before, if you like, hut it was returning sanity that brought me here?’ “I daresay you mean well,” he continued. after a moment’s silence, trying to speak calmly. “But your coming after me has only deferred the inevitable for a short time, and so made me suffer longer than I need have.” “Well, I never thought to find one. of your blood talking and acting in this selfish, cowardly way?’ I rejoined deliberately. “And all because you’ve had your pockets emptied in a gambling dm where yon had no business to be! The Ardvistons I’ve known were i plucky lot who took their losses with a grin.” “It’s not the money loss,” said the young man sullenly, stung by my implication—after all he was little more than a lad. “Yen don’t know everything. I’m noy going to live and see myself a disgrace tn my people.” “That’s right!” said I. “Save your own feelings all you can. and don’t trouble to remember that your suicide is sure to make more sorrow for your people.” “1 should feel much obliged if you would relieve rue of your company, sir.” he cried angrily. “You think so, but you’re wrong. Anyway, I’m not going until you’ve made a clean breast of all your trouble to me.” I laid my hand on his arm. “Young man, your uncle. Philip Ardviston, was one of my best friends. It would be strange if I couldn’t see my way to help his nephew when in sore straits. Only, you must tell me the whole truth.” So he did, after a little more persuasion. Very haltingly and shamefacedly he told it, with the help of my prompting questions. Tn its main features his story was miserable commonplace. lie had first been attracted to the Z-—— house by the sweetness and prettiness of Hilda Z , whom he had met. at a dance. Then her brothers had secretly introduced him to their accursed roulette table, which soon grew to have a fatal fascination for him. His early success at the table fed his hopes of winning money enough to place him in a position where it would be possible for him to ask Hilda to be his wife: and. not more eagerly did he woo the latter in hej- mother’s drawing room than he courted his luck in her father’s gaming saloon. His affection for the young lady was evidently very strong. “She knows nothing of the den downstairs any more than her sisters do,” lie assured me earnestly. “She thinks her father ami the boys are making heaps of money at their business place in town, which barely gives them bread and butter.” But Jack Ardviston had found before long that gambler’s luck is a fickle mistress. She played fast and loose with him for a time, and then threw him over. On one false pretext or another, when his own money ran out, he borrowed from relatives and friends in the vain hope of retrieving from the roulette table what he had lost there. Then came the climax of his sinful folly. He occupied a position of trust in an office

iu M ellington, and a good deal of money passed daily through his hands. When he could borrow no inorc from friends and relatives, in a moment of madness he had borrowed (?) from the funds of the company who employed him. trusting to pay back the money before it was missed. But his luck had never been good enough to let him replace the embezzled money. That night he had played with desperation, for next day his books were to be audited, and he was a disgraced man unless he could make good the deficits before then. His fortune at roulette that night I Knew. The spinning ivory ball had whirled away his last shilling, and the auditors next day would disci ver his dishonesty. His was indeed a very ordinary story ordinary folly, ordinary crime, ordinary results. That he had been so selfish and foolish as to get secretly engaged to Hilda Z during the last week, and that he now sought to escape the consequences of his guilt and folly by a coward’s death, were not detail's of a sufficiently unusual kind to take his case beyond the confines of the veriest commonplace. A selfish young fool of the common or garden variety—that's what 1 styled him in my own mind, and, I believe, to Ids face too. It scarcely seemed worth while to do Otherwise than to leave him to reap whtrt he hail sowed. But there was something curiously winning about, the young fellow: his repentance was vital, aitd his uncle had been very kind io me at a time' when I wanted kindness badly . So I did otherwise. Not. lengthy, but very plain and pointed, was the speech I addressed to the young mm as we walked back to town together: and I have good reason to know that it. went home. W hen I parted from bun at the door of his boardinghouse we had made an agreement between us. I had his solemn promise that, never again would he enter Mr. Z 's gaming saloon, or anywhere else indulge in gambling of any description. Also, that he would release Hilda Z from her engagement to him, until such time ns he would be in a position to honourably seek her js his wife. On my side. I promised to lend him. without interest, for a certain number of years, a sum of money which would mit only allow him to put his accounts > 'Jit at his office, the first thing next morning, but would leave something over to pay his most pressing debts. Jack Ardviston kept his promises as faithfully as I did mine., aud, by hard graft and rigid self-denial, he was gradually clearing himself of all money embarrassments, when a handsome legacy from an old aunt made him, ai one stroke, a comparatively well-to-do man. My loan was repaid instnnter. with sincere protestations that his debt of gratitude io me could never be repaid. Shortly afterwards 1m married Hilda • who. despite the severe opposition of her parents, find always persistently refused to break off her engagement with the man who had her heart. They live, not in Wellington, but in the airarapa. When 1 visited them in their pleasant home there, the sight of their mutual happiness would have been more than enough to convince me, had I needed ••onvineing, that I had never used my legs to belter purpose than on that night, in Wellington, when I ran after Jack Ardviston over the hill by the old water reservoir. The day after that memorable night Jarvis met me at lunch time. “You must have cut away from Z- —*s last night at a very early hour,” he said. “I m ver noticed you going.” Then he ehuiklvj. ‘ Well, are you still inclined to believe that I exaggerate the amount and kind of gambling that goes on in this town? Of course, you've only seen one of our favourite, resorts, but, if you like, I can take you to a variety- of others, whore the play is a bit more fast .and furious and the fun consrqiicntlv a lot better.” “Oh. I think I've seen as much of that kind of thing us I care to. thank you.” I said, a trifle grimly. "I'm quite willing, without more proofs, to take your word for it that Wellington is goin>' to the devil.” " . “But I never said flint!” cried Jarvis, staring. “There’s really no harm in gambling, and one must amuse oneself. Why, bless my soul! to hear yon talk one would think you were as big a puritan as Mathieson.” (The End.)