The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 1, 1905, Page 8

THE SAN RANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. a(hing as " 'hé gambler | qoired. about the time that human natur2 first opened its cyes. A ‘dispasitien’to steal some- noments before; but-k man may gam- ile and :ot be a thief’ There is sach 'H Honest gamber, that 1bler who. i villing .to. give a fair chance—1o lose his money. . ants vour money’and it ‘t much ‘{rouble for him to-accom- v arper than yo hiinself with th: o know iis other man -dei yYhus- s Ol Limuel w0’ a few nas wno-were! gathered . about ine tne -gu_kiin ‘home. Ths 3 howiing -and the ‘snow_likz nrediled sheéis' was {lying past the o don’t believe that all gam- blers are threves Brizinti 5 drde s I.didn't. ."Buf there ain't in” i, will: sl more than -gamblin’ w. Leen prredc n many a Bat 1 fever gambi¢d in-m ‘And ‘you don't know just ho you are honést,” ‘Lin broké in. . - I understand ~1_don't knaw' that “Didn’t ‘think- -you ~ did; plied Klin. But -1 lcan -expl he thit gambles has more tempta- to siéal than any. other man. he has lost.everything a strong meny ‘drises against- life,- It i most impossikile. for ‘et he .h.3 been. fairly beaten and if he is bioad: enough "to acknowledge he thep questions fate for her He wants, to know he's - got' to diseriminate n. It.has been said that ! tural gamblers and it iiay betrue, for the most of us have 1iid:to fizht a ainst it ‘Unfortunately for man, work was put on him 'ds a curee. The fact is it nnobles him, but he accepted it as a curse.” And when his brothér has com- mitted a crime; not grave enough to hang him, ‘he says:: ‘T wilk sentence vou . In the older times a man that r wasn't ‘respected_as much as the highwayman, They hanged the rob- it ietrue, but ‘they respected him n:bre than they did the man: that han- died the hoe: And the gamblér is a sort of social Highwayman. I don’t sav- he is a bad feller., In many instances he 1ades “himself to- believe that his profession is ‘richt. He puts up his money, takes chance=, and if he wins he has come by the money as honestly as if le had dug in the ground for it— he thinks. And as long as he wins he ‘¢ *LOVE for gamblin’ ‘was born hing "Was-born just a few - iscience as to the. way " emarked -0id ‘man | rain a 1man’s hon-- him to believe may -be honest. But his principles undergo a change when he begins to lo: Then he can’t’ help. feelin’ that he is 5 the . other too much show. When he- has lost all, he must. have money in grder to carry on busi- ness. Suppose he is -employed: to collect .- money-— suppose he'is in a mone 4 with, he_is honest ~desperately hon- est, you might ay. And he may in day.after — for years; some ~ day but he may find him- self weak. This weakness may con- sist of an overconfidence in self—in an overaburidance of hope, in a faith that he will win-and can vay back. Right there he is gone. Think you are strong enough to stand such a temptation as that, Brother Brizintine?" “I would not use any man’s mon: Brizintine answered. ~“I surely have sense enough to know what is my own, and knowing what: is not my own I have honesty enough not to take it.” “Yes,” repiled Jucklin, “‘and - what you have said is the answer that nine out. of tex men would maze—and hon- estly, too. But the fact is, you don't know.” “What! do you mean to say I don't know whether or, riot I'm honest?”" “I mean just what I say—you don't know. It is all veny well for the un- tried man to believe hims:lf strong. but unless he has been severely tried he does not know.” “Do you know, Brother Jucklin?" “Well, I'll tell you just how far I OO S NOTOD N SETNONNEDE0) * A GOLDEN (Copyright, 1904, by T. C. McClare.) 13 OLLOW .this .path, ‘ma'am, and you will find the Hous..” explained the coachman as he ‘drew up before the stately -of Tilesmere Abbey. “‘Car- ges dre mot .permitted inside 'the grounds, but visitors on foot can walk through, and. view the lake and ter- sturdy oaks between through whose sranches ‘the flickering sunlight fell in .golden shadows; ‘oaxs- that had stood for generations, the pride of the .. Mrs: Lincoln and her daugh- r walked slowly forward, exclaim- in delight et thé grand old trees, until a suds fork in: the path caused them to’hait-in. spme perplexity. Although, as.the caterpillar said, if vou don’t cdré where you are going, it cannot matter much wuich way you go,” laghed ‘Ethél Lincoln. “And- both look attractive,” she added. As théy heditated, 2 young man, clad. in knickerbockers and carrying a . gun, ‘down ome of the paths. oln lookéd relieved.. amekeeper, or poacher, or slie said. ‘“He -can probably tell us which is the best way to go."” The man, who :had stopped on see- ing the ‘twd ladies, now came’ toward them, lifting his battered cap. Can I be of ahy service?” he in- His voice ~¢as prepossessing, ind Mrs. Lincoln’ assented. “We are anxious to see the house 1 the lake,” she said: “Could you direct ug how to reach them? “The right-hand . path will take you ‘ectly to the house,”” he answered of “And the lake—the lake is a bit out of the way”— he paused a mo- ment, then went on—"I belong here, and if you would care to have me show you about—-" “Mrs. ‘Lincoln smiled kind}: “If you would be $o good.” Ethel Lincoln, wandering somewhat behind the others, was enchanted with thé place. ‘The lovely mere, laden with heavy white lilles, the brilliant Mrs. ® hued parterres, the cool green ter- races, all evoked deep breaths of ad- 0 mjration. “It is like a, page from a novel,” she declared. *I hever imagined anything 50 romanti¢. It's—it's perfect,” aban- *doning a vain search. for suitable ad- Jjectives. The gamekeeper ~looked pleased. 5 As he turned and beckoned the ‘coachman, Ethel Lincoln sighed. " “How beautiful it all is,” she ex- claimed. “Really, I could marry El- lerslie just to live here.” The game- keeper, his face unmoved, stepped forward. . “May I help you in, madam?” he asked decorously. Mrs. Lincoln, slipping her fingers into the tiny gold purse swinging at her iwrist, pulled forth a coin and, without looking at it, held it toward the man. To her surprise, he flushed and drew back. But at sight of the lodk of unconscious dismay on the girl’s face, his half-uttered protest died and he quietly accepted the money. As they drove homeward Mrs. Lin- coln laughed. “No wonder that man stared,” she sajd. “These English coins are so much alike in size that instead of a shilling I gave him a sovereign. But how abnormal for any foreigner to hesitate at a tip, Shall we send EI- lerslie a cand, Kitten? 1 suppose he would hardly remember us and it is many years since his mother died. Do you think it would be worth while?"” “I suppose not,” agreed Ethel, not, however, without a secret twinge of disappointment. L But the next day, on returning from their drive, the innkeeper met them. In his hand was a letter and a card. “Hie Lordship was here this after- noon,” he said. “and asked if you were the lad¢ who had lost this locket,” producing a small gold ornament. “If you were, I was to give you this let- ter.” . “Why, I must have dsmd it yes- terday,” exclaimed Mrs. Lincoln in surprise, tearing open the envelope. Oz~ T DIDN T RUA 4wy — TN TVE AFTERWARD.” (O It contained a card of invitation and a few lines on a crested sheet of paper. “My dear Mrs. Lincoln—From the name engraved on the locket, which [ fail in proportion to their ability to put things through. He who has learned to grip a purpose and cling to it until it is accomplished has mas- tered one of the secrets of happy and effective living. But to do it requires a bulldog tenacity, like that. illustrated by General Grant when he declared that he would fight out his campaign if it took. all summer, and by Melville Cox, one of the first and noblest of American missionaries to Africa, who exclairhed at the climax of his career, “Let a hundr>d men fall before Africa’ be given up.” Every now and then we see a great structure in process of erection op which work has ceased. ‘As the months g0 by and no signs of activity appear tHe projectors are either pitied or laughed at. But it would be a far more pathetic spectacle if we could bring out into the open the unfinished posses- sions of individuals residing in a givea community. Think of the garment, the household articles, the inventions, the poems, essays and paintings that would be brought to light, half done, quarter done, three-quariers done, all but done, and yet still uncompleted. Of course, even in their unfinished condition, they represent certain praiseworthy impulses. You will re- call,the day of your vision, how you saw something ahead of you worth doing or being and how all the tides of enthusiasm of which your nature is capable set toward the accomplish- I N the last analysis, men succeed or O Y N <whom my mogher so loved. Carrying Thi O el ey NN A IPSSAINE el was found In the grounds yesterday, 1 judge you must be the old friend Will not you and your-daughter do me the hon- or of coming to the garden party T am o e O] ngs Through g O With what about it, ment of that ambition. eager anticipation you set and the first day’s work was simply delightful. The second d was not bad, either, but by the third day the wheels began to move a little harder. Unforeseen obstacles arose. The proved unexpectedly difficult. You r alized that if you kept at it you would have tq sacrifice certain things for which you cared a great deal. So lit- tle by litt!lc enthusiasm ebbed away. Soon there came a day when you did not work at all at your former hobby, and ere long you ‘put it aside aito gether. To-day you take out the un- finisheq affair and gaze ruefully at it. You have a certain lingering fondness for it that prevents you from throw- ing it away. So back into the drawer of your bureau or th: compartment of your mind it goes, and there it is likely to stay until you are ready to take the pains and the time essential to perfecting i, and alas! that time may pever come. ’ Well, this common experience of mankind points at least to two lessons. One is the need of sifting ambitions. Beware of having too many plans for reading, for study, for exploiting your business, for doing good. Choose one or two of the best and then stick ever- lastingly to them. Don’t let go while health and reason endure. And forget not to put things through in the sphere of *moral life. How many times have you said to yourself: “T'll conquer that habit. I'll steer by that star.” This time carry your purpose through. THE PARSON. C AN AL TEEY A PO TS know. Many years ago I was workin’ at a mill that took in a good deal of money. Fjnally they gave me chargeof it. Along about that time a party of us used to meet two or three times a week to play a social game of poker. It got to Dbe so sociable that it kept me broke. 1 knew that it was largely a game of luck and that the cards would break even after a while, and that may be true, the long run, but the run is too long. In the course of a thousand years they might ‘have broke even, but as it was, they broke with just enough promise to hold me tied in the fascination to the game. I Legan to borrow money—and it took all of my wages to pay it back. One night I went over to meet the boys. I didn't have a cent of my own, and 1 wouldn’t have gone if I hadn’t thought that some one would lend me enough to get into the game. But every one hemmed and hawed and spoke of the extreme need for money, of hard times and/the like—the very men who had week after week got all of my wages. “Just then it flashed across me that in my pocket were more than a hundred dollars belongin’ to the mill. With this amount as a backin’ I felt sure that I could win back some of the money ad lost. It was per- fectly pla uld do it. At some stage of the game I had nearly always been ahead, but wouldn't quit. But why couldn't I quit? The other fel- lers jumped, and with my money. LINR p, giving next Thursday and let me have the pleasure of renewing an old ac- quaintance? Faithfully yours, “ELLERSLI When, on Thursday afternoon, Mrs. Lincoln and Ethel drove under the porte cochere of Ellerslie Abbey, al- réady the lawns, K and terraces were ed with bright frocks and para- while from a gay marquee came the strains of a military band. Ethel's spirits rose. “I feel that I am going to have a good time,” she declared. “My new gewn is becoming, my 1 t perfect, so cheer up, Mumsie.” “Mrs. and Miss Lincoln,” chouted the flunkey, and into the great hall, panel- €d te the root with oak and hung with the family portraits of three centuries, d. A gentleman turned from t group of people and came forward. Tall, slim, frock coated, with white gardenia in his buttonhole. there was yet no mistaking him. For a moment Mrs. Lincoin stared, then a slow smile curved her lips. “Sc it was you—you all the time," she declared. “You were the game- keeper.” The man looked repentantly back. “I really didn’t mean to,” he pleaded. “You sce, I only expected to stop a mo- ment and pass on. But then that seem- ed uncivil, and so—" “And so ycu merely deceived us in- stead,” laughed Mrs. Lincoln. “Ethel, dear. this is Ellerslie, bad & eve *No, no,” he protested.. “It was my cap that deceived you, not 1. At first I hardly appreciated the situation, and then—it seemed too late. And I never hoped to see you again. But when you spoke of my mother, I began to think who you might be, and, of course, the name on the locket settled it. Indeed, I was innocent.” Mrs. Lincoln laughed. “Certainly you took the tip badly enough.” “But I still have it,” he asserted, “and zlways shall, if only as being the first morey I ever earned.” As host, Ellerslie’s duties kept him busy through the afternoon, and it was vies Ogden (A WL Why couldn’t T do the same? . T broke out in a sweat. I strové to bring up arguments against my sitting in th game and couldn’t. Luck whispere that it was with me, and it didn’t seem possible that I could lose. . Never be-- fore had I felt so strongly that it was my night. I arose and walked up and down, the room. -I could- hear my blood singin'. 1 turned and looRed at the boys, ¢ach one with an expression: of eagerness on his face. I felt my-" self superior to them. I could beat them. There they sat, completely: within _the power of my skill and my luck. T could win enough to pay back’ the money that I owed, and with my wages 1 could buy clothes, and I° needed 'em. Suddenly I rushed out of the house, and I ran—ran all the way to the—home of the mill.owner— snatched his money out of my pecket ] and gave it to him. I told him what . I had gone through with, and he turned pale and took hold of thé man- telpiece to steady himself. ‘My son,'" said he, ‘I have been all along there (only 1 didn’t run away—until after-.’ ward). They caught me and brought | me back, and it was only by the .grace —of human nature that I didn't ge to the penitentiary In the company there were. three. voung fellows. The old man’s recital had moved them. “And did you play, again, Uncle Lim?” one: of them in-' quired, A “No, I didn’t. And although it may. appear parrow in me, lét me say’ that & playin’ card shan't come into 1 my house. In itsélf a deck of cards is innocent enough, and so_is a bottle of licker if you don’t drink it. It is° true, though, so far as my experience counts, that nearly every gambler be- . gins in a social way, without any thought of becomin’ one. Very few of them set out with the aim’to miake ] gamblin’ their profession. Take hoss for instance. Nearly all men li fine horse—like to see him run. * They develop a judgment as to the runnin’. qualities of a horse and finally are willin’ to back it up with money. Whose business is it? The money be- longs to them and was honestiy earned Understand, now, 1 ain't preachin’ a moral sermon, for "I ain't fitted for that. I just want'to talk in a human nature sort of way for the benefit of these boys. Don’t bet on any- thing. That's the’safest plan. If there's no fun n goin’ to hoss races unless you bet, den’t go.” But haven't you bet on roosters 0ld Brizintine inquired, looking wise. “Well, I have seen the feathers- fly . from the wrong ¢hicken,” Lim answer- ¢d. “Andif I have ber, and have seen the evil of it, I am all the fitter to talk to these young chaps. - Boys, if you don’t want to be on trial all your life, don’t bet on anything.” (Copyright, 1904, by Opie Read.) By A . M. § ] not until the long shadows lay wide across the lawn that he was able to fol- low the direction in which his eyes had often strayed and joined Ethel where | she stcod under a huge Japanese um- brella. 3 Ethel smiled and lét him take her paraszol from one of the group of men abcut her. But ‘as they paused on a little rustic bridge commanding a view of lake and woods stretching away to the red sun. set sky Ellerslie seemed to have sud- denly lost the desire to' talk. When finally he turned to her there was an odd little glint in his eye. “Well,” he said, “do you like it?” wav- ing his hand toward the picturesque reach of wood and water. ] “Indeed I do,” she answered earnest. 1y. The glint in his eye deepened. “THen you are prepared to xeep your word?” : “My word?” demanded the girl, start- led. 3 “That you would marry Ellerslie to] get all this.” He pulled a coin from his pocket and gazed meditatively at it “This precious coin;: I fell in love with a girl when it was given to me; wasn't it an 0dd thing to do? But I am so de- light 2d with thé fact that I am going to have this bit of gold made into the best thing I know of, and that is a wedding ring. Shall 1? Do you think she might wear it in time?” Although he spokg jestingly there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his tone which the girl was quick to catch. For a moment a new, strange shyness kept her silent, then she spoke. “Of course, I am hardly competent to advise on such a subject,” sne be- gan demurely, “but,” with a swift, up- ward glapce that suggested bewilder- ing possibilities, “there could certainly be no harm in having the ring made,” It was several years before Ellersiie admitted - to His wife that, as Mrs. Lincoln had hahded him the coin, ghe had dropped the locket, and that he, willfully and deliberately, cealed it. To his astonishment, how- ever, Lady Ellerslie only laughed. v, rad § e B L —— dAa s R P~ et