Roundabout Papers - Penn State University

Roundabout Papersnatural genius, long forethought, memory, and carefulhistorical experience to bear upon their favorite labor.Don’t tell me that it is the sixpenny points, and fiveshillings the rub, which keeps them for hours over theirpainted pasteboard. It is the desire to conquer. Hourspass by. Night glooms. Dawn, it may be, rises unheeded;and they sit calling for fresh cards at the “Portland,” orthe “Union,” while waning candles splutter in the sockets,and languid waiters snooze in the ante-room. Solrises. Jones has lost four pounds: Brown has won two;Robinson lurks away to his family house and (mayhapindignant) Mrs. R. Hours of evening, night, morning,have passed away whilst they have been waging thissixpenny battle. What is the loss of four pounds to Jones,the gain of two to Brown? B. is, perhaps, so rich thattwo pounds more or less are as naught to him; J. is sohopelessly involved that to win four pounds cannot benefithis creditors, or alter his condition; but they playfor that stake: they put forward their best energies:they ruff, finesse (what are the technical words, andhow do I know?) It is but a sixpenny game if you like;but they want to win it. So as regards my friend yonderwith the hat. He stakes his money: he wishes to winthe game, not the hat merely. I am not prepared to saythat he is not inspired by a noble ambition. Caesar wishedto be first in a village. If first of a hundred yokels, whynot first of two? And my friend the old-clothes’-manwishes to win his game, as well as to turn his littlesixpence.Suppose in the game of life—and it is but a twopennygame after all—you are equally eager of winning. Shallyou be ashamed of your ambition, or glory in it? Thereare games, too, which are becoming to particular periodsof life. I remember in the days of our youth, whenmy friend Arthur Bowler was an eminent cricketer. Slim,swift, strong, well-built, he presented a goodly appearanceon the ground in his flannel uniform. Militastinon sine gloria, Bowler my boy! Hush! We tell no tales.Mum is the word. Yonder comes Chancy his son. NowChancy his son has taken the field and is famous amongthe eleven of his school. Bowler senior, with his capaciouswaistcoat, &c., waddling after a ball, would present282