Personal Reminiscences in Book Making - Robert Michael Ballantyne (free ebook novel .TXT) 📗

employment, and by devoting it and himself to God he may so influence the world for good that men shall bless him while he lives and mourn him profoundly when he dies. But what fraction of good is done by the gambler in all the wide world?"

"Much the same that is accomplished by the others," put in Sharp at this point. "The orator gives pleasure to those who are fond of recitation or declamation; the musician pleases those who are fond of sweet sounds, and the gambler gives pleasure to men who are fond of the excitement of play. Besides, by paying his way he gives benefit to all whom he employs. He rents a house, he buys furniture, he eats food, all of which brings profit to house-owners, cabinet-makers, butchers, bakers, etcetera, and is good done to the world by the gambler."

"Nay, friend Richard, not by the gambler, but by the money which the gambler spends."

"Isn't that much the same thing?"

"By no means. The money--or its equivalent--is created by some one else. The gambler merely passes it on. If he had never been born the same money would have been there for some one else to spend. The labour of the gambler has not added one penny to it. He brought nothing into the world, and has added nothing to the world's pile, though he has managed to consume a good deal of its produce. Is there not something very mean and contemptible in this state of being? On the other hand the orator has spent laborious days and exerted much brain-power before he made himself capable of pleasing and benefiting his fellows. The musician has gone through exhausting drudgery and practice before being fit to thrill or instruct by means of his sweet sounds, and the man of wealth has had to be educated up to the point of using his possessions to profitable account--so that his fields shall grow heavier crops than they did when he began his work; his tenants shall be better housed than they were at first, and shall lead healthier and happier lives to the great moral and material advantage of the community. Nearly all the other members of the hive produce, or help to produce, some sort of equivalent for the money they obtain. Even those who produce what is bad have still _something_ to show for their money, and that something, bad though it be in one form, may be decidedly good in another form, or if put to another use. The gambler alone--except, perhaps, the absolute idler--enjoys the unenviable position of a thorough, out-and-out, unmitigated drone. He does absolutely _nothing_, except produce unhealthy excitement in himself and his fellows! He has nothing whatever to show for the money he has obtained except `risk,' and that can hardly be styled a commodity."

"I beg pardon," interrupted Sharp, "the gambler produces skill; and there can be no doubt that hundreds of men derive as much pleasure from an exhibition of skill with the billiard-cue as others derive from an exhibition of skill with the flute or violin."

"You forget, Dick, my boy, that skill with the billiard-cue is not gambling. What I condemn as being morally and politically wrong is betting on games and staking anything upon the issue of them. Gamblers are, if I may say so, a set of living pockets which circulate money about amongst themselves, one pocket gaining neither more nor less than what another pocket loses."

"But you are now talking of professional gamblers, Tom. Of course I don't defend these. What I do defend is my right to play, now and then, for sixpenny, or say shilling, or even half-crown points, without laying myself open to the charge of having been guilty of what you term a mean, dishonourable, unjust, contemptible act."

"In other words, you wish to steal now and then without being called a thief! But come, old man, I won't call you bad names. I know you don't look at this matter as I do, and therefore I don't think that you are either mean or contemptible. Nevertheless, we must bear in mind that honourable, upright men may sometimes be reasoned into false beliefs, so that for a time they may fail to see the evil of that which they uphold. I am not infallible. If my reasoning is false, I stand open to correction."

Laying the monkey down on the table at this point and looking earnestly at his friend, Tom Blunt continued--

"Let me ask a question, Dick. Is it for the sake of getting money that you gamble?"

"Certainly not," returned his friend, with a slight touch of indignation. "You know that I _never_ play for high stakes, and with penny or sixpenny points you know it is impossible for me either to win or lose any sum that would be worth a moment's consideration. The game is all that I care for."

"If so, why do you lose interest in the game when there are no stakes?"

"Oh--well, it's hard to say; but the value of the stake cannot be that which adds interest, for it is so trifling."

"I'm not so sure of that, Dick. You have heard gambling talked of as a disease."

"Yes, but I don't believe it is."

"Do you believe that a miser is a morally diseased man?"

"Well, perhaps he is," returned Sharp; "but a gambler is not necessarily a miser."

"Yet the two have some symptoms of this moral disease in common. The miser is sometimes rich, nevertheless the covetous spirit is so strong in him that he gloats over a sixpence, has profound interest in gaining it, and mourns over it if lost. You, being well off with a rich and liberal father, yet declare that the interest of a game is much decreased if there are no stakes on it."

"The cases are not parallel."

"I did not say they were, but you must admit--indeed you have admitted-- that you have one symptom of this disease in common with the miser."

"What disease?"

"The love of money."

Richard Sharp burst into a laugh at this, a good-humoured laugh in which there was more of amusement than annoyance.

"Tom, Tom," he said, "how your notions about gambling seem to blind you to the true character of your friends! Did you ever see me gloating over gold, or hoarding sixpences, or going stealthily in the dead of night to secret places for the purpose of counting over my wealth? Have I not rather, on the contrary, got credit among my friends for being somewhat of a spendthrift? But go on, old fellow, what more have you to say against gambling--for you have not yet convinced me?"

"Hold on a bit. Let me pare off just a morsel of my monkey's nose-- there, that's about as near perfection as is possible in a monkey. What a pity that he has not life enough to see his beautiful face in a glass! But perhaps it's as well, for he would never see himself as others see him. Men never do. No doubt monkeys are the same. Well now," continued Blunt, again laying down the stick, and becoming serious, "try if you can see the matter in this light. Two gamblers meet. Not blacklegs, observe, but respectable men, who nevertheless bet much, and play high, and keep `books,' etcetera. One is rich, the other poor. Each wishes ardently to gain money from his friend. This is a somewhat low, unmanly wish, to begin with; but let it pass. The poor one has a wife and family to keep, and debts to pay. Many thousands of men, ay, and women, are in the same condition, and work hard to pay their debts. Our poor gambler, however, does not like work. He prefers to take his chance at gambling; it is easier, he thinks, and it is certainly, in a way, more exciting than work. Our rich gambler has no need to work, but he also likes excitement, and he loves money. Neither of these men would condescend for one moment to ask a gift of money from the other, yet each is so keen to obtain his friend's money that they agree to stake it on a chance, or on the issue of a contest. For one to _take_ the money from the other, who does not wish to part with it, would be unfair and wrong, of course; but their agreement gets rid of the difficulty. It has not altered the _conditions_, observe. Neither of them wishes to give up his money, but an arrangement has been come to, in virtue of which one consents to be a defrauder, and the other to be defrauded. Does the agreement make wrong right?"

"I think it does, because the gamblers have a right to make what agreement they please, as it is between themselves."

"Hold there, Dick. Suppose that the poor man loses. Is it then between themselves? Does not the rich gambler walk away with the money that was due to the poor one's butcher, baker, brewer, etcetera?"

"But the rich one did not know that. It is not his fault."

"That does not free the poor gambler from the dishonourable act of risking money which was not his own; and do you really think that if the rich one did know it he would return the money? I think not. The history of gambling does not point to many, if any, such cases of self-sacrifice. The truth is that selfishness in its meanest form is at the bottom of all gambling, though many gamblers may not quite see the fact. I want your money. I am too proud to ask it. I dare not demand it. I cannot cajole you out of it. I will not rob you. You are precisely in the same mind that I am. Come, let us resort to a trick, let us make an arrangement whereby one of us at least shall gain his sneaking, nefarious, unjust end, and we will, anyhow, have the excitement of leaving to chance which of us is to be the lucky man. Chance and luck! Dick Sharp, there is no such condition as chance or luck. It is as surely fixed in the mind of God which gambler is to gain and which to lose as it is that the morrow shall follow to-day."

"My dear Blunt, I had no idea you were such a fatalist," said Sharp in surprise.

"I am not a fatalist in the sense you mean," returned his friend. "Everything has been fixed from the beginning."

"Is not that fatalism of the most pronounced nature, Tom?"

"You don't seem to see that, among other fixtures, it was fixed that free-will should be given to man, and with it the right as well as the power to fix many things for himself, also the responsibility. Without free-will we could have had no responsibility. The mere fact that God of course _knew_ what each man would will, did not alter the fixed arrangement that man has been left perfectly free to will as he pleases. I do not say that man is free to _do_ as he pleases. Sometimes the doing is permitted; sometimes it is interfered with--never the willing. That is always and