“That was a very pretty girl who spoke to me.”
“Yes. There’s a story about her. She was engaged to a Frenchman who went to America and established himself in business. He sent her money to buy her trousseau, and to pay her passage over. She was crazy about him, all eagerness to join him; but she was tempted to risk a little of the money at the tables. In the end she lost it all. She dared not tell him, so she never answered his letters. Since then she has lived a hectic existence. She’s an incurable gambler. A ruined life.... But come, I want to introduce you to two of the oldest habitués of the Rooms, veterans like myself. Mr. Galloway MacTaggart of Strathbungo.”
Hugh was forthwith presented to a tall wiry man, who enveloped his hand in a large dry grip. He had a grim spectacled face and thin-grey whiskers.
“Welcome, malad,” said Mr. MacTaggart. “The Fraternal Order o’ the Veeatic bids ye welcome tae this den o’ ineequity. And noo, if ye’ll alloo me, I’ll present ye tae the Grand Maister, Mr. Gimp o’ Cincinnati. Mr. Gimp has the disteenction o’ bein’ the auldest member.”
Mr. Gimp was small and wiry. He was the neatest man Hugh had ever seen; even his eyes were neat. He had a puckered pink face, and white silky hair like the floss of the thistle. His moustache was like a wisp of cotton. He extracted the thumb of his right hand from the armhole of his waistcoat and presented two fingers for Hugh to wag solemnly.
“Gimp’s feeling peevish,” said Mr. Tope. “He’s just won five francs and lost ten.”
“Never play the goddamn game,” snorted Mr. Gimp. “When you catch me putting a cent on those tables, you can call me a goddamn fool and kick me round the ‘Camembert.’”
“Well, after coming here for thirty years without missing a season you ought to have enough of it.”
“Darned sight too much. No place for a respectable man! Never enter the Rooms unless I’m obliged to. Just come in now to look for a friend. A hotbed of crooks and courtesans. Yes, and spies. Look at that damn inspector edging nearer to see if he can’t hear what we are talking about. Bah! Look at that woman now. Why, she’d make a rotten egg smell like a rose. Well, I can’t stand it any longer. I’m off to breathe God’s good air. Au revoir.”
With that Mr. Gimp stalked virtuously away. “He’s always like that,” remarked Mr. MacTaggart dryly. “An’ if ye come in the Casino an ’oor from noo ye’ll find him smokin’ his cigarette in the atrium. He’s one o’ the fixtures o’ the place. It wouldna’ be complete withoot him. An’ there’s a whole lot mair in the same boax. A man frae Brazeel went aff his heid in the Rooms the ither day. ‘Puir Chap!’ they were a-sayin’, but I telt them, ‘He’s nae worse nor the rest o’ us. We’re a’ daft in this establishment.’ Whit’s yer impression o’ it, young man?”