Ups and Downs in the Life of a Distressed Gentleman

by William L. Stone

"Only twelve shillings!" murmured the heart-broken wife, in a tone of despair. "O Robert, don't let them go for twelve shillings. Let me try somewhere else."

"Nonsense," answered the brute. "It's as much as they're worth, I suppose. Here, Mr. Crimp, give us the change."

The money was placed before him, and the bundle consigned to a drawer. The poor woman reached forth her hand toward the silver, but the movement was anticipated by her husband. "There Mary," he said, giving her half a dollar, "there, go home now, and don't make a fuss. I'm going a little way up the street, and perhaps I'll bring you something from market, when I come home."

The hopeless look of the poor woman, as she meekly turned to the door, told plainly enough how little she trusted to this ambiguous promise. They went on their way, she to her famishing children, and he to squander the dollar he had retained, at the next den of intemperance.

While this little scene was in progress, another had been added to the number of spectators. This was a young man, dressed in the height of the fashion, that is to say, in a be-frogged and be-laced frock coat with a standing collar, a pair of cossack pantaloons tapering down to the foot with a notch cut in the front for the instep, and a hat about twice as large at the crown as at the rim, much resembling in shape an inverted sugar-loaf, with the smaller end cut away. He had a reckless, dare-devil, good humored look, and very much the air of what is called "a young man about town;" that is, one who rides out to Cato's every afternoon, eats oyster suppers at Windust's every night after the play, and spends the rest of his time and his money at billiards. I had cast my eye upon him occasionally during the affair of the shawl, and saw that he took a deep interest in its termination. The moment the poor woman was gone, he twitched from his neck a gold chain, at the end of which was a small gold watch, and placing it in the hands of the pawn-broker, with whom he seemed to be on terms of acquaintance, he exclaimed, "Quick now, Crimp; thirty dollars on that; you've had it before, and needn't stop to examine it."

The money was instantly produced and paid over; and the young man of fashion, crumpling the notes up in his hand, ran off at full speed, first looking up and then down the street in a manner that gave me a suspicion as to the cause of his haste. I took the liberty of following him to the door, and was in abundant time to find my conjecture verified by seeing him accost the poor woman who had just left the shop, thrust into her hand either the whole or part of the sum he had just received on the pledge of his watch and chain, and then hurry away to the other side of the street, without stopping either for thanks or for explanation.

The reverie of mingled surprise and admiration into which I was thrown by this unexpected manifestation of benevolence, was interrupted by a loud outcry from Mr. Crimp, the pawn-broker, and by seeing him, with a look of wrath and horror, hurry round his counter and out through the door, upon the sidewalk, where he stood for a moment straining his eyes down the street, as if in search of the kind-hearted youth, who had by this time disappeared up one of the cross streets.

"The villain," he exclaimed; "the swindling scoundrel! Which way did he go, the ungrateful thief? Tell me," he continued, turning to me, "tell me which way he went, and I'll give you any thing you've a mind to ask. Yes, I'll give you—half a dollar, if you'll show me where he is."

I was not a little astonished at all this, but deferring the gratification of my curiosity for the present, pointed out to Mr. Crimp the course taken by his late customer, and mentioned also what I had seen take place between him and the poor woman. The information, or perhaps even the brief space employed in giving it, seemed to produce a change of intention in the mind of the estimable gentleman.

"Ah it's no use," he said; "he's got off clear by this time, and my thirty dollars is a case. But I'll find him yet, some day." And thus soliloquizing, Mr. Crimp returned into his shop.