It was Christmas Eve! Christmas Eve at my Uncle John's; Christmas
Eve (There is too much 'Christmas Eve' about this book. I can see
that myself. It is beginning to get monotonous even to me. But I
don't see how to avoid it now.) at No. 47 Laburnham Grove, Tooting!
Christmas Eve in the dimly-lighted (there was a gas-strike on)
front parlour, where the flickering fire-light threw strange
shadows on the highly coloured wall-paper, while without, in the
wild street, the storm raged pitilessly, and the wind, like some
unquiet spirit, flew, moaning, across the square, and passed,
wailing with a troubled cry, round by the milk-shop.
We had had supper, and were sitting round, talking and smoking.
We had had a very good supper--a very good supper, indeed.
Unpleasantness has occurred since, in our family, in connection
with this party. Rumours have been put about in our family,
concerning the matter generally, but more particularly concerning
my own share in it, and remarks have been passed which have not so
much surprised me, because I know what our family are, but which
have pained me very much. As for my Aunt Maria, I do not know when
I shall care to see her again. I should have thought Aunt Maria
might have known me better.
But although injustice--gross injustice, as I shall explain later
on--has been done to myself, that shall not deter me from doing
justice to others; even to those who have made unfeeling
insinuations. I will do justice to Aunt Maria's hot veal pasties,
and toasted lobsters, followed by her own special make of
cheesecakes, warm (there is no sense, to my thinking, in cold
cheesecakes; you lose half the flavour), and washed down by Uncle
John's own particular old ale, and acknowledge that they were most
tasty. I did justice to them then; Aunt Maria herself could not
but admit that.
After supper, Uncle brewed some whisky-punch. I did justice to
that also; Uncle John himself said so. He said he was glad to
notice that I liked it.
Aunt went to bed soon after supper, leaving the local curate, old
Dr. Scrubbles, Mr. Samuel Coombes, our member of the County
Council, Teddy Biffles, and myself to keep Uncle company. We
agreed that it was too early to give in for some time yet, so Uncle
brewed another bowl of punch; and I think we all did justice to
that--at least I know I did. It is a passion with me, is the
desire to do justice.
We sat up for a long while, and the Doctor brewed some gin-punch
later on, for a change, though I could not taste much difference
myself. But it was all good, and we were very happy--everybody was
so kind.
Uncle John told us a very funny story in the course of the evening.
Oh, it WAS a funny story! I forget what it was about now, but I
know it amused me very much at the time; I do not think I ever
laughed so much in all my life. It is strange that I cannot
recollect that story too, because he told it us four times. And it
was entirely our own fault that he did not tell it us a fifth.
After that, the Doctor sang a very clever song, in the course of
which he imitated all the different animals in a farmyard. He did
mix them a bit. He brayed for the bantam cock, and crowed for the
pig; but we knew what he meant all right.
I started relating a most interesting anecdote, but was somewhat
surprised to observe, as I went on, that nobody was paying the
slightest attention to me whatever. I thought this rather rude of
them at first, until it dawned upon me that I was talking to myself
all the time, instead of out aloud, so that, of course, they did
not know that I was telling them a tale at all, and were probably
puzzled to understand the meaning of my animated expression and
eloquent gestures. It was a most curious mistake for any one to
make. I never knew such a thing happen to me before.
Later on, our curate did tricks with cards. He asked us if we had
ever seen a game called the "Three Card Trick." He said it was an
artifice by means of which low, unscrupulous men, frequenters of
race-meetings and such like haunts, swindled foolish young fellows
out of their money. He said it was a very simple trick to do: it
all depended on the quickness of the hand. It was the quickness of
the hand deceived the eye.
He said he would show us the imposture so that we might be warned
against it, and not be taken in by it; and he fetched Uncle's pack
of cards from the tea-caddy, and, selecting three cards from the
pack, two plain cards and one picture card, sat down on the
hearthrug, and explained to us what he was going to do.
He said: "Now I shall take these three cards in my hand--so--and
let you all see them. And then I shall quietly lay them down on
the rug, with the backs uppermost, and ask you to pick out the
picture card. And you'll think you know which one it is." And he
did it.
Old Mr. Coombes, who is also one of our churchwardens, said it was
the middle card.
"You fancy you saw it," said our curate, smiling.
"I don't 'fancy' anything at all about it," replied Mr. Coombes, "I
tell you it's the middle card. I'll bet you half a dollar it's the
middle card."
"There you are, that's just what I was explaining to you," said our
curate, turning to the rest of us; "that's the way these foolish
young fellows that I was speaking of are lured on to lose their
money. They make sure they know the card, they fancy they saw it.
They don't grasp the idea that it is the quickness of the hand that
has deceived their eye."
He said he had known young men go off to a boat race, or a cricket
match, with pounds in their pocket, and come home, early in the
afternoon, stone broke; having lost all their money at this
demoralising game.
He said he should take Mr. Coombes's half-crown, because it would
teach Mr. Coombes a very useful lesson, and probably be the means
of saving Mr. Coombes's money in the future; and he should give the
two-and-sixpence to the blanket fund.
"Don't you worry about that," retorted old Mr. Coombes. "Don't you
take the half-crown OUT of the blanket fund: that's all."
And he put his money on the middle card, and turned it up.
Sure enough, it really was the queen!
We were all very much surprised, especially the curate.
He said that it did sometimes happen that way, though--that a man
did sometimes lay on the right card, by accident.
Our curate said it was, however, the most unfortunate thing a man
could do for himself, if he only knew it, because, when a man tried
and won, it gave him a taste for the so-called sport, and it lured
him on into risking again and again; until he had to retire from
the contest, a broken and ruined man.
Then he did the trick again. Mr. Coombes said it was the card next
the coal-scuttle this time, and wanted to put five shillings on it.
We laughed at him, and tried to persuade him against it. He would
listen to no advice, however, but insisted on plunging.
Our curate said very well then: he had warned him, and that was
all that he could do. If he (Mr. Coombes) was determined to make a
fool of himself, he (Mr. Coombes) must do so.
Our curate said he should take the five shillings and that would
put things right again with the blanket fund.
So Mr. Coombes put two half-crowns on the card next the coal-
scuttle and turned it up.
Sure enough, it was the queen again!
After that, Uncle John had a florin on, and HE won.
And then we all played at it; and we all won. All except the
curate, that is. He had a very bad quarter of an hour. I never
knew a man have such hard luck at cards. He lost every time.
We had some more punch after that; and Uncle made such a funny
mistake in brewing it: he left out the whisky. Oh, we did laugh
at him, and we made him put in double quantity afterwards, as a
forfeit.
Oh, we did have such fun that evening!
And then, somehow or other, we must have got on to ghosts; because
the next recollection I have is that we were telling ghost stories
to each other.