Chapter Twelve.
In Dangerous Company.
Harry’s visit to the Jacobin Club was several times repeated. He met there more than one man of note. The members were, however, chiefly those who, carried away by their ardent love of freedom, which in France had degenerated into unbridled licence, and their hatred of tyranny, failed to perceive the happy mean where a settled government and just laws exist.
It would have been surprising had Harry not felt somewhat of the enthusiasm of the speakers. Silas Sleech only once or twice took a part in the debates, and on these occasions he advocated the most extreme measures; and although the assassination of the King of England was not mentioned, the regicides of the first Charles were lauded to the skies, as among the truest patriots of which history makes note.
“I wonder what your old mentor would say, if he heard of your attending our meetings,” said Sleech, as they were walking home. “However, it’s your own fault if he finds out. To-morrow we’ll play a different sort of game. I am sadly in want of a few hundred pounds, and I have an idea that I shall get them; if you will stand by me, Harry, I will explain matters you by-and-bye.”
The next evening Silas led Harry to one of the haunts which they had of late frequented. They entered in the same cautious way as before. At that time the police were actively engaged in endeavouring to destroy the numerous gambling-houses, not improperly known as hells, in London. Harry knew very well that he had no business to be there, and nearly every day he persuaded himself that he would refuse to go again; but as the evening came round, the tempter’s persuasion overcame his scruples. On this occasion a considerable number of well-dressed men were present, many of them evidently men of rank and position. If they went, why should not he? He had hitherto been wonderfully successful, and he had made up his mind not to stake more than he had won. There was an abundance of sparkling wine and other refreshments on the sideboard. The room also was brilliantly lighted with wax candles, and Harry felt himself in remarkably good spirits. Silas was already playing, and placing somewhat heavy stakes on the table. Harry approached him, and followed the example of his friend. Fortune seemed to have turned against him. He lost stake after stake. Still Silas signed to him to go on; a strange infatuation seized him. He lost still more. Suddenly he looked up, when he saw the countenance of young Gilby, who was watching him narrowly. The young man came round to him, and placed his hand on his shoulder.
”‘Still waters run deep,’ old boy. I thought so,” he whispered. “I am glad to see you are not such a muff as I took you for. I don’t know what our friends in Broad Street would say to you, if they saw you here. However, mum’s the word with me. Go on and prosper.”
Harry felt himself abashed. He could make no reply.
“If one or two hundred pounds are of any use to you, you are welcome to them, young one,” said Gilby, in a tone which he intended to be good-natured.