Dangerous Dilemmas: Startling but True

"You are in a vein of luck and yet cease to play," said the Dutch banker Oppenheim to me over my shoulder at the roulette table at Spa.

Since that bright autumn day both Germany and Belgium have seen the evil results attending public gambling when practised by weak-minded individuals, and have banished the too fascinating game to Monaco, to the great delight of the prince of the smallest kingdom in Europe.

Man, being a speculative animal by nature, finding trente et quarante and roulette forbidden by a paternal government, has had recourse to écarté and baccarat, and instead of playing at the kursaal in the sight of everybody he now stakes his money in the seclusion of a club. The facilities for gambling are more numerous than of yore, but you cannot always depend upon the fairness of your opponents' game, nor on realising your winnings. At the public tables there could be no cheating, and when you won you could rely on getting your money.

The bankruptcies and suicides accruing from the gambling mania have not diminished, but they are now attributed to other causes. A man does not care to bespatter the Turkey carpet of the club house with his brains, and a severe loss or a grand coup made at a club is not usually the subject of a newspaper paragraph. When a Garcia broke the bank at Baden Baden the fact was commented on by the whole European press. A public gambling table is to some people's thinking an outlet for the over speculative and a check against folly, but what is the use of discussing the question, has not the fatal decree gone forth, and the clink of the ivory ball and the "faites le jeu" of the impassable croupier are no longer to be heard in the richly decorated halls of the kursaal at Spa. But at the time the above remark was made roulette and trente et quarante were in the heyday of their dangerous career.

"You are in a vein of luck and yet cease to play," the Baron repeated.

"I don't care to waste my mornings at the tables," I replied.

"Superior attractions elsewhere?"

"No, not what you mean; the bright sunshine lures me out of doors for one thing, and you know I never play long in the morning."

"Why?"

"Because it would be making a toil of a pleasure. I enjoy my days in the open air and speculate in earnest in the evening."

"Perhaps you are wise. At my time of life men are only too willing to profit by the smiles of the fickle goddess, come they at any hour of the day or night; they have had too much occasion to fear her frowns."

"They are no doubt right, and I am wrong to neglect my chance, but in the morning I only venture a little to test the fallacy of the last new system, and if possible to win enough money to cover the day's expenses."

"Praiseworthy objects both, and if you are satisfied, what say you to get our horses and have dejeuner at the restaurant in the wood. We will find ortolans there, and the trout are quite equal to those of your Loch Leven."

"Delighted," was my answer, and in a few minutes we were cantering gaily along the heights above Spa.

Before reaching the charmingly situated restaurant we met with an accident which nearly cost my companion his life.

When least expected how often in our progress through life do we suddenly come face to face with a grave difficulty which the most acute of intellects would have failed to foresee. Here's an illustration of what I mean. To shorten our journey by about half a mile the Baron and I left the main road and struck into the forest. The shade from the trees was fully appreciated after the heat and dust. There were numerous glades of surpassing loveliness, and we had but little difficulty in finding a path for our horses. We had enjoyed the agreeable change for some time when the question arose whether we had not lost our way. It turned out that neither of us knew anything about the intricate windings of the forest. The scenery was certainly very pretty, but the wealth of the variegated foliage only gladdened the eye, and the trout in the streams wanted catching and cooking; we were two hungry men in search of something to eat. Our watches told us that we had been nearly an hour endeavouring to reach our destination, which by the longest route would not have occupied more than half the time. We had undoubtedly lost our reckoning, and were making for some unknown region. A philosopher, partial to offering words of advice in season would write here, "beware of short cuts."

We altered our course and rode to the left instead of the right, and coming to a large open space we set our horses going to make up for the mistake. The open space was beautiful to look at, but proved as treacherous as a lovely but deceitful woman. This simile is not mine—the fair sex has no more devoted champion than myself—it was suggested to me by Wormald, who has just returned from India to go through the Divorce Court. Before we had ridden many yards we found ourselves in the middle of a morass, and—pleasant sensations—horses and riders felt themselves gradually sinking out of sight. Shouting for help seemed useless in such a solitude, and our escape evidently depended on our own exertions.

The Baron was a heavy man and weighed quite sixteen stone in the saddle. He was mounted on a stout black cob about fifteen hands, which was making extraordinary exertions to get out of the mire, but the horses' floundering only made matters worse. My steed, a light-made thoroughbred mare, standing 15—2, having only to carry about ten stone, did not sink so deeply as the Baron's cob, and after a desperate scramble we managed to retrace our steps and regain sound ground. My trouble over, I fastened my muddy horse to a tree and hastened to see what I could do for my companion. His position had become very serious. The cob was lying on his side and had got the Baron under him.