The Chequers | Page 2

gentry of my own acquaintance. The
unhappy vendor of revelations went among his subjects of study for six
weeks, and then set up as an authority. Of course, the acute, sleazy dogs
whom he questioned kept back everything that was essential, and filled
their victim's mind with concoctions which amused professional
blackguards for a month. Could that literary adventurer only have heard
the criticism which daily met my ear, he would have found that many
eager souls were longing for a chance to plunder such an obvious
"mug." Another writer, whose works appear in a morning journal,
professes to make flying visits to various queer places, and his articles
are published as facts; but I had the chance of testing the truth of two
tales which dealt with official business, and I found that these two were
false from end to end. Not only were they false, but they illustrate
nothing, for the writer did not know the conditions of the life which he
pretended to describe, and his fiction misled many thousands.
Experience, then--sordid, miserable, long experience--is needed before
anyone can speak the truth concerning the life of what Carlyle called
"the scoundrel classes." The same experience only can teach you
anything about the poor. The scoundrels do not actually confide in
anybody, and I never yet knew one of them who would not turn on a
confederate; but they exhibit themselves freely before people to whom
they have become used. It unfortunately happens that the scoundrels
and the dissolute poor are much thrown together. A man may be a
hopeless drunkard without being a rascal, but the rascals and the

boozers are generally taken in the lump by persons of a descriptive turn
of mind. That is faulty natural history. The chances are always ten to
one in favour of the boozer's becoming a criminal; but we must
distinguish between those who have taken the last bad step and those
who are merely qualifying. And now for our history.

THE WANDERER.
The bar was very much crowded last night, and the air was impregnated
to choking point with smoke and evil exhalations. The noisy times on
Saturdays come at 2 p.m., and from ten till closing time. In the
afternoon a few labourers fuddle themselves before they go home to
dinner, and there is a good deal of slavering incoherence to be heard.
From seven to eight in the evening the men drop in, and a vague
murmur begins; the murmur grows louder and more confused as time
passes, and by ten o'clock our company are in full cry, and all the pipes
are in full blast. When I stole quietly in, I thought the scene was
hideous enough in its dull way. The gas flared with drowsy refulgence
through the reek, and the low masks of the roaring crew somehow left
on me an impression that I was gazing on one bestial, distorted face. A
man who is a racecourse thief and "ramper" hailed me affably. A beast
of prey he is, if ever there was one. His hatchet face with its piggish
eyes, his thin, cruel lips, his square jaw, are all murderous, and, indeed,
I cannot help thinking that he will commit a murder some day. When
he is in his affable mood he is very loathsome, but I cannot afford to
loathe anyone, and we smile and smile, though we dislike each other,
and though the Ramper hardly knows what to make of me. When I first
made his acquaintance we were on our way to a race meeting, and he
proposed to give me his company. Like all of his class, he knew many
"certainties," and he offered, with engaging frankness, to put me in the
way of "gittin' a bit." The racing blackguard never talks of money;
indeed, his obliquity of mind prevents him from calling anything by its
right name. For him the world is divided between those who "have got
it"--it being money--and those who mean to "get a bit" by any means,
fair or foul. On that day, long ago, this creature fancied that I had some
money, and he was determined, to rob me somehow. I let him imagine

that he was leading me on, for there is no luxury that I enjoy more than
watching a low, cunning rogue when he thinks he is arranging a
successful swindle. I was introduced to a thoroughly safe man. The safe
man's face was almost as villanous as that of my mentor, and his
manners were, perhaps, a little more offensive. Our first bet closed all
transactions between us; as I fully expected, I obtained a ridiculously
liberal price, and I won. On my proposing a settlement, the capitalist
glared virtuously and yelled with passion--which was also what I
expected. Then