Evening Star Newspaper, February 9, 1930, Page 89

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, FEBRUARY 9, 1930. e e = = TR = e R s SRR - it. Let's go over to the Cercle Prive for am They strolled@ away. “Always gives me the hump, this place™ Tresholm remarked. “To think that some of these broken-down, miserable looking men and women were once decent folk. Came here, lots of them, with plenty of money, good homes and “Signor Tresholm,” Bartoldi said, “I do not know who you are. The Signorina is my fiancee, and in Italy it is not the all the rest of it, and then set themselves down to play against a certainty. Imbeciles, of course, but one can't help feeling sorry for them!” They wandered down to the Salles Privees. “There are a couple of plague tables in the Schmit Room,” Tresholm said. “Quite high play, I believe.” Bartoldi followed his companion without en- thusiasm. At first sight of one of his numbers appearing produced in him a fit of restlessness. After about an hour, however, he scarcely made an observation. Every now and then he glanced at the clock. They stayed for a quarter of an hour. It was Bartoldi who led the way out of the rooms. As they mounted the steps of the Hotel de Paris, Monsieur Robert, the manager, came hurrying forward. “At last, Monsieur Tresholm, they tell me that you have entered the lists!” he exclaimed. “What fortune? The Casino is perhaps mort- gaged to you?” Tresholm smiled. “I have just been looking on,” he confided. “I haven't played.” “You could watch and not play?” the other gasped. “Why not? I find it amusing enough.” “All these people seem very interested in Bartoldi remarked curiously, as they mounted in the lift. Tresholm smiled. “I have a reputation,” he explained, “which as yet I have not attempted to justify.” Dinner was distinctly a cheerful meal. Bar- toldi was a littie tired and nervous, but he im- proved in humor and appearance as the eve- ning went on. The princess was pussled. “I do not understand,” she told Treshelm frankly. “Gastone tells me that instead of keeping him away from the gaming rooms, you have pressed him to accompany you there, and on Friday you are lending all that maoney.” Tresholm nodded. “I am gambling,” he con- fessed. She made a little grimace. “You have the right to, without a doubt, but Gastone—he will only lose your money.” “The luck may change.” It was 11 o'clock before they left the dining room, and every one was in excellent humor. Lena turned toward Tresholm. “Why shouldn't we all go straight to that little Russian place and dance?” she suggested. “Gastone doesn't mind.” “Just one hour at the Sporting Club first, please,” Tresholm begged. “And I thought you didn't play,” the princess Intervened reproachfully. “It's a wonderful game to watch,” Tresholm rejoined. They made their way through the passage silently. The princess drifted into the chemie room. Tresholm, with his hand resting lightly upon Bartoldi's shoulder, took up his old po- sition at the roulette table. There were more peaple playing and the gambling was heavier. “Twenty-nine!” the young man exclaimed irritably. “Oh ,if only I could back the seven and the fourteen.” 3 Tresholm remained deaf. Twenty-five turned up, then 19, followed by 27. An English noble- man cotlected a great pile of 10-mille plaques. “‘Over two hundred thousand francs he’s won while we've been standing here,” Bartoldi mur- mured feverishly. Tresholm nodded. “Let’s watch the other table for a time,’ ‘he suggested. They strolled around. In half an hour they returned. The Englishman was cashing a check. He looked up and nodded as Tresholm “What's become of all those plaques?” the latter asked. “All gone,” was the frowning response. *“They spin too quickly.” “Yes, I suppose that's it,” Tresholm agreed, half to himself.. “They spin too quickly. They don’t give you a chance to keep your winnings.” Lena leaned forward and passed her arm through his. “Margherita wants to go,” she pleaded. “Every one feels like dancing to- night.” “What about Bartoldi?” Tresholm asked. “I'd like to go if you're ready,” the young man assented, almost eagerly. “Just half an hour more,” Tresholm stipu- lated. EVEN Bartoldi sighed with relief when they left the Sporting Club a short time later. ‘There were still signs of strain about him, but he danced with spirit, and of_ his own accord inquired about the morrow’s plans. “Tennis at 10:30,” Tresholm told him. “Two decent fellows want to make a foursome. And Thursday morning-——what about a foursome at Mont Agel’” “ Ishould love it,” Lena declared. “Alss, 1t is 89 long since I played,” the prin- cess sighcd. “Nevertheless, we will give them a game,” Tresholm promised. . . “I wish T knew just what your idea is, Andrew,” she said to him a little later, when * they were alone at the table. “Of course I know that you have promised to lend Gastone some money, and that is what makes him agree to do everything you suggest, but why don’t you keep him away from the tables al- together? Surely that would be best. This afternoon, and part of this evening, the poor boy was standing there in agony.” " Tresholm nodded with satisfaction: “You noticed that, too, did you?” he observed. “Good! The young man is to have this money I promised to lend him at midnight on Friday. After that, I shall try to explain.” “Dear Andrew,” she begged, “Lena is so wor- ried. She is afraid you don’t realize what this gambling may mean to him.” “You know what they call me here?” he asked abruptly. “I know,” she admitted—* ‘the professional gambler.’ It was a blague of yours when you arrived.” “Nevertheless,” he went on, “there is perhaps custom——" and their April fragrance. Tresholm glanced at his watch and passed his hand through the young man's arm. “Come into the bar, Bartoldi,” he invited. “It is mid- night on Friday, and your period of probation is up.” The young man, who had been looking down at the roulette table, turned around with ala- crity. Tresholm led the way into the inner portion of the bar and drew out a packet from his coat. “Here you are,” he announced. “There's a hundred mille in each of these—10 of them. Get as much fun as you ean out of it. It ought to last you a few nights, at any rate.” The young man smiled. ‘“You don’'t seem to believe in any ome’s winning, Mr. Tresholm.” “Oh, I dare say they do sometimes,” was the casual reply—“if they have to leave in a hurry, just after a run of luck. We've been watching for four afternoons and four evenings, haven't we?” “Watching til I am blame sick of the sight of the ball,” the young man declared vigor- ously. “Well, we haven't seen any one win who kept his winnings, have we?” Tresholm ob- Bartoldi stopped a young man who was rassing. “Here the 60 mille I owe you, Prancois,” he said. “That is excellent,” the other exclaimed as he pocketed the money. “You have been win- ning, yes?” “I haven't played for the last few days.” Bartoldi excused himself and made his way to the bar, summoning Joseph to a conference. Joseph approached, glum, and with regrets already framing themselves upon his lips. “I will take my I. O. U.’s, Joseph,” his patron said. “Sixty mille, I think.” The sun broke thrugh the clouds. Joseph's famous smile illumined his face. “The I. O. U.’s are here, Monsieur le Prince,” he said, producing them. Buying Rare Paintings. Continued from Fourth Page otherwise bring from $50 to $100, thanks to an artificially cornered and artificially stimulated market for certain artists. The innumerable houses, castles and bank- ing establishments of the Rothschild family in France have not been packed full of pictures during the last century at any such inflated prices. The Rothschilds don't play in cornered markets. They get the most expert advice ob- tainable. A sort of family council looks over the most promising artists who come to their attention, and they are as careful in deciding to take a number of a certain man’'s works as if they were going to fiannce a new railroad. It is a policy that has paid handsomely, for the combined collection of the various members of this financial dynasty is priceless. The Roths- childs never sell these works, never draw any tangible dividends from them, but nevertheless they constitute a tremendous and growing asset, aside from their artistic appeal. Is it any wonder that, in spite of all the difi- culties and pitfalls of the picture-buying game, almost every one in Paris with money is specu- lating in art? Day after day there is the same exciting scene at the Hotel Druot, the public auction house. A little Ingres, Renoir or Monet which the hungry painter probably sold for a break- fast is put up before a crowd of art dealers and collectors who have flocked here from all over the world. “I remember when I could have had that for $5,” some one whispers in French to his neigh- bor. The bidding starts at the ridiculously low price of 25,000 francs ($1,000) and jumps up by leaps and bounds. The dealers glare at one an- other. The bid reaches $10,000, perhaps $15,000. “It's cheap at that price,” some one else whispers. “In a few years it will bring triple that.” ANO'!‘HER day it is even newer art, perhaps a work by Maurice Utrillo, who is still v~ ing, “I remember when Utrillo was selling his paintings to Montmartre barkeepers for a sin- gle shot of cognac,” some one else whispers. “Why, it was only 10 or 15 years ago.” These little masterpieces that poor Maurice made for “two bits” sell regularly now for Just as the Americans who put a bond or a few shares of stock away against a rainy day mduflnuthethneo(theb&rlse,!’uhhm nuehsslndolannulonumesmtrym out the Ingres, RenBirs, Monets and Cezannes among the present generation and to put away a little painting or two that they or their children may sell some day for a fabulous sum. It is a pleasing job searching for budding masterpieces, t0o. The cafes of the art dis- tricts are hung with them; oodles of them are offered from $5 to $10 apiece. One orders a bottle of “red ink” for 10 or 13 cents, contemplates all this art at his leisure, and with the aid of a little alcoholic exaltation makes his choice. If one of these humble art galleries has nothing appealing, there are millions of others, and other bottles, too. (Copyright, 1930.) Beauty Doctors for Cattle. T}m beauty doctor has been called in by certain raisers of beef cattle in an effort to carry off the major honors in the stock shows. In this case the activities amount almost to downright knavery, for they are intended to give an impression of plumpness where no plumpness exists. For years agricultural experts have known of the practice termed plugging, by which lard, tallow or oil is injected under the skin of ani- mals to fill out hollow spots, which should not be present if the entrant is to win in com- petition. Of 435 animals slaughtered in Chicago, after appearing in a live stock show, six were found to have been treated by the beauty experts. While this action has no adverse effect upon the meat involved, it brings about a dissatis- faction which Pederal experts fear may result in legitimate and sportsmanlike exhibitors withdrawing from future competitions, with an adverse effect upon the effarts to improve the character of the stock beilng raised in this country. Bartoldi tore them up. Tresholm was talking to the princess and Lena, who were just leaving the room with the Duca di Michani. “Margherita,” Bartoldi announced, “I owe you 50,000. Voila. And you, Lena, 30,000. You have room in your bag, I hope. Now I have only one creditor.” “My dear Gastone!” the princess exclaimed. “Now I shall be able to play again.” “You are sure you wouldn't like to keep this a little longer? Lena asked wistfully, “Not for a second,” he assured her. “I was suggssting to the princess an hour or two at the Carlton,” Michani proposed. “Well, we've gone there for several nights” Tresholm observed. “Tonight I think we ought to stay for a little time to see Prince Bartoldi MICHANI indulged in a significant grimace. There was distress in the princess’ face, Nevertheless, they trooped out to the roulette table. As though instinctively, Tresholm and his young companion stcod where they had watched the game hour after hour for the last four days. Tresholm’s eyes followed the whirl- ing of the ball. *Nineteen,” he announced. “I should never have thought of nineteen. What are you for, Bartoldi? Maximums on seven, fourteen, twenty-nine, I suppose?” Lena’s hand stole through the young man’s arm. “I may stand by you?” she whispered. “I &g not disturb?” Tresholm was watching his companion close ly. Bartoldi's attitude was that of a genuine spectator—if anything a trifie bored. He heid a packet of notes in his hand, but he was whis- pering to Lena and they both laughed. Then he leaned forward and watched the croupiers, “What a silly game!” he exclaimed suddenly. “I say,” he added, turning to Tresholm, “do you mind if we go on up to the Carlton? You and I have to play against those fellows at ten- nis tomorrow at half past 10, so we ought not to be too late.” The little procession passed down the stairs, Lena’s arm through her fiance's, the princess' head close to Tresholm's. “But you are a magician, dear friend,” sh® murmured. 5 Later in the evening they found themselves alone for a few minutes. “BEver since I knew you, dear Andrew,” she said, “you’ve been helping people out of trouble, There was your second secretary who had the affair with Signor Cortoni's wife. Angd then——" “Don’'t make me out too much of a busye body,” he begged. “Dear Margherita—yow permit?” “Margherita, and nothing else, for always“ she whispered. “Then, Margherita,” he went on, “beliew me, this little episode has given me real please ure. It is a hobby of mine to speculate upog human nature and its byways, of which gams bling is one. I figured to myself that, after the first agony of watching a game of chance when one was hopelessly without the means of joining in, the flatness of it would begin to depress. That was my theory. Afternoon after afternoon, night after night, we have watched that stupid mechanical toy, and every time the young man became more bored. At first he suffered, but only for a short time. By come parison, the tennis we arranged for him, the golf, the companionship of your delightful Lena gained every hour in value. Tonight I am cer- tain he was honest. The game did not attract him. The poison had gone. I am proud of my patient.” “And you, the physician!” she murmured. “Is there no one who can pay your fee?” Then the lights went down; shadows crept through the place. Without a werd they arose, “The last thing the true physician thinks of is his fee,” Tresholm confided. Her lips almost brushed his in that sub- dued light. “So the patient has to offer,” she whispered. (Copyright, 1930.)