In the front room was a long table and some two dozen chairs, an iron safe, and a side table, convenient for the support of such light refreshments as sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, and beverages of a popular kind.
The back room was more or less a sealed subject, and supposed to contain club memoranda, Jinks’ books, and to be the spot where the “proprietor” carried on the business.
Membership of the club was within the reach of all, and a “quorum” of Jinks and Jonas could on emergency elect a member without general meeting or ballot; but those specially introduced by Jonas were received with marked favour. Nor were there apparently any fixed rules as to meetings, which were left to circumstances, and an urgent three-lined whip on emergency.
The procedure in the latter case may briefly be described as follows:—
If Jonas met a “likely” man—from town—he would tell him that his appearance was the luckiest thing in the world, as that very night a rare round game was “coming off,” that baccarat would begin at nine, and that the rendezvous was Jinks’ Club. This point being settled, an urgent whip was sent round by the indefatigable Jonas, and by 8.45 a representative company awaited the desirable plunger from town.
Prior to the commencement of the game, Jonas, it must be conceded, was a mass of energy. Attired in evening clothes he would first unlock the mysterious safe, and after the local members had come one by one, presumably to deposit money, and returned with counters conspicuously displayed, he would turn with his most winning smile to the visitor with: “Now, old man, how much do you want to buy; it saves a lot of bother by having counters? You’ve only to plank your counters after it’s over, and get their value; good rule, don’t you think? It’s what they do at ‘le Cercle’ at Nice; saves a lot of bother.”
Occasionally, during the excitement of the game, strangers had been known to put into the pool brand new crisp notes to save the bother of buying counters; but these were always exchanged for counters by the ever-obliging Jonas. “It’s much better to have one sort of settlement, don’t you think, old man?” he would add, as stuffing the notes into his pockets he eagerly rushed into the fray.
“By Jove! it’s later than I thought,” was often a familiar exclamation as daylight appeared over the pier. “How many counters have you got, Jack? Count them, old man, or keep them till morning. You and I are old pals; you know where to come in the morning. Name your own hour; good-night.” And the genius was round the corner like a hurricane.
An amusing incident once occurred where Jonas was a big winner, and his debtor Master Fred Granville; Jonas on this occasion was immeasurably chaffed. “You’ll never get a bob,” he was told right and left.
“Oh, yes I will, he’s all right,” was the half-hearted reply.