A Woman-Hater. Charles Reade
the ornamental cottage near Staines, forty or fifty rooms, and the whole structure one story high. The mine teems with solid wealth; but you must grope and trouble to come to it: it is easier and pleasanter to run about the cottage with a lot of rooms. all on the ground-floor.
The mind and body both get into habits—sometimes apart, sometimes in conjunction. Nowadays we seat the body to work the intellect, even in its lower form of mechanical labor: it is your clod that toddles about laboring. The Peripatetics did not endure: their method was not suited to man's microcosm. Bodily movements fritter mental attention. We sit at the feet of Gamaliel, or, as some call him, Tyndal; and we sit to Bacon and Adam Smith. But, when we are standing or walking, we love to take brains easy. If this delightful chatterbox had been taken down shorthand and printed, and Vizard had been set down to Severni Opuscula, ten volumes—and, mind you, Severne had talked all ten by this time—the Barfordshire squire and old Oxonian would have cried out for “more matter with less art,” and perhaps have even fled for relief to some shorter treatise—Bacon's “Essays,” Browne's “Religio Medici,” or Buckle's “Civilization.” But lounging in a balcony, and lazily breathing a cloud, he could have listened all day to his desultory, delightful friend, overflowing with little questions, little answers, little queries, little epigrams, little maxims 'a la Rochefoucauld, little histories, little anecdotes, little gossip, and little snapshots at every feather flying.
“Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas, Gaudia, discursus, nostri farrago Severni.”
But, alas! after an hour of touch-and-go, of superficiality and soft delight, the desultory charmer fell on a subject he had studied. So then he bored his companion for the first time in all the tour.
But, to tell the honest truth, Mr. Severne had hitherto been pleasing his friend with a cold-blooded purpose. His preliminary gossip, that made the time fly so agreeably, was intended to oil the way to lubricate the passage of a premeditated pill. As soon as he had got Vizard into perfect good humor, he said, apropos of nothing that had passed, “By-the-by, old fellow, that five hundred pounds you promised to lend me!”
Vizard was startled by this sudden turn of a conversation, hitherto agreeable.
“Why, you have had three hundred and lost it,” said he. “Now, take my advice, and don't lose any more.”
“I don't mean to. But I am determined to win back the three hundred, and a great deal more, before I leave this. I have discovered a system, an infallible one.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Harrington, gravely. “That is the second step on the road to ruin; the gambler with a system is the confirmed maniac.”
“What! because other systems have been tried, and proved to be false? Mine is untried, and it is mere prejudice to condemn it unheard.”
“Propound it, then,” said Vizard. “Only please observe the bank has got its system; you forget that: and the bank's system is to take a positive advantage, which must win in the long run; therefore, all counter-systems must lose in the long run.”
“But the bank is tied to a long run, the individual player is not.”
This reply checked Vizard for a moment and the other followed up his advantage. “Now, Vizard, be reasonable. What would the trifling advantage the bank derives from an incident, which occurs only once in twenty-eight deals, avail against a player who could foresee at any given deal whether the card that was going to come up the nearest thirty would be on the red or black?”
“No avail at all. God Almighty could break the bank every afternoon. Apre's? as we say in France. Do you pretend to omniscience?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, but prescience of isolated events, preceded by no indicia, belongs only to omniscience. Did they not teach you that much at Oxford?”
“They taught me very little at Oxford.”
“Fault of the place, eh? You taught them something, though; and the present conversation reminds me of it. In your second term, when every other man is still quizzed and kept down as a freshman, you, were already a leader; a chief of misrule. You founded a whist-club in Trinity, the primmest college of all. The Dons rooted you out in college; but you did not succumb; you fulfilled the saying of Sydney Smith, that 'Cribbage should be played in caverns, and sixpenny-whist in the howling wilderness.' Ha! ha! how well I remember riding across Bullington Green one fine afternoon, and finding four Oxford hacks haltered in a row, and the four undergraduates that had hired them on long tick, sitting cross-legged under the hedge like Turks or tailors, round a rude table with the legs sawed down to stumps. You had two packs, and a portable inkstand, and were so hard at it that I put my mare's nose right over the quartet before you saw either her or me. That hedge was like a drift of odoriferous snow the hawthorn bloom, and primroses sparkled on its bank like topazes. The birds chirruped, the sky smiled, the sun burned perfumes; and there sat my lord and his fellow-maniacs, snick-snack—pit-pat—cutting, dealing, playing, revoking, scoring, and exchanging I. O. U. 's not worth the paper.”
“All true, but the revoking,” said Severne, merrily. “Monster! by the memory of those youthful days, I demand a fair hearing.” Then, gravely, “Hang it all, Vizard, I am not a fellow that is always intruding his affairs and his theories upon other men.”
“No, no, no,” said Vizard, hastily, and half apologetically; “go on.”
“Well, then, of course I don't pretend to foreknowledge; but I do to experience, and you know experience teaches the wise.”
“Not to fling five hundred after three. There—I beg pardon. Proceed, instructor of youth.”
“Do listen, then: experience teaches us that luck has its laws; and I build my system on one of them. If two opposite accidents are sure to happen equally often in a total of fifty times, people, who have not observed, expect them to happen turn about, and bet accordingly. But they don't happen turn about; they make short runs, and sometimes long ones. They positively avoid alternation. Have you not observed this at trente et quarante?”
“No.”
“Then you have not watched the cards.”
“Not much. The faces of the gamblers were always my study. They are instructive.”
“Well, then, I'll give you an example outside—for the principle runs through all equal chances—take the university boat-race: you have kept your eye on that?”
“Rather. Never missed one yet. Come all the way from Barfordshire to see it.”
“Well, there's an example.”
“Of chance? No, thank you. That goes by strength, skill, wind, endurance, chaste living, self-denial, and judicious training. Every winning boat is manned by virtues.” His eye flashed, and he was as earnest all in a moment as he had been listless. A continental cynic had dubbed this insular cynic mad.
The professor of chances smiled superior. “Those things decide each individual race, and the best men win, because it happens to be the only race that is never sold. But go further back, and you find it is chance. It is pure chance that sends the best men up to Cambridge two or three years running, and then to Oxford. With this key, take the facts my system rests on. There are two. The first is that in thirty and odd races and matches, the university luck has come out equal on the river and at Lord's: the second is, the luck has seldom alternated. I don't say, never. But look at the list of events; it is published every March. You may see there the great truth that even chances shun direct alternation. In this, properly worked, lies a fortune at Homburg, where the play is square. Red gains once; you back red next time, and stop. You are on black, and win; you double. This is the game, if you have only a few pounds. But with five hundred pounds you can double more courageously, and work the short run hard; and that is how losses are averted and gains secured. Once at Wiesbaden I caught a croupier, out on a holiday. It was Good-Friday, you know. I gave him a stunning dinner. He was close as wax, at first—that might be the salt fish; but after the