Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 35, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 May 1877 — A LONDON ADVENTURE; OR, The True Story of the Ingenuous Englishman. the Friendly German and the Confiding American. [ARTICLE]

A LONDON ADVENTURE; OR, The True Story of the Ingenuous Englishman. the Friendly German and the Confiding American.

As an honest traveler is bound to relate all that befalls him. illustrative of the manners and morals of the people among •whom ho sojourns, even though he himself does not appear to the best advantage in the narrative, my conscience will not permit me to withhold from my reader the following bit of adventure, though the simplicity of John Bull, about which 1 have had something to say, may not be made so apparent by it as the credulity of Jonathan. It was an attempt on the part of two sharpers to play upon me an old London confidence game which gave me my only chance to see John Bull as a rogue. In this character he proved no bungler, but a most consummate actor. Indeed, the circumstance revealed to me more clearly than almost anything else, how much we have got to learn of this people, and how “ mellow” and considerate John can be even in the character of a London highwayman. For some reason or other, the confi-dence-men have always taken a shine to me. About the first time I went to New York, Peter Funk sold me a watch, though I saw what he had done in a few moments afterward, and went into the next place where watches were being slaughtered, and advised the innocent bidders standing about (I) hot to purchase, as things were not wlmt they seemed, and privately showed some of them my own time-keeper l And in very recent years, during a half-hour’s walk on Broadway, I have had at least three long-forgotten acquaintances rush up to me with extended hand and hearty exclamations of surprise and delight. But on these occarns I have always been able to command Bret flarto’s famous smile, which I have found as effective as a policeman's badge. i Tne London confidence-man found me one night at a public place of amusement, and, of course, knew me at a glance, He was a German (my Visor always goes up when I see a German), and was a curious spectator of things in and about London, like myself, and expected soon to visit America. I hardly know how we got acquainted. I* thftlk some Incident in the crowd, as we stood near each other in the area, caused us to exchange glances and then remarks. He evidently “took" tome at once. Travelers are quick to know travelers, and always find themselves in sympathy: they are in one boat, while the stay-at-home world is in another. We were soon exchanging notes about London and other matters, and, after the performance was over, walked out of the theater together. We were a good deal Jostled by the crowd, but an empty pocket is never afraid of being picked, and the frail creature who did her share of the jostling, and who declared we looked enough'alike to be brothers, played her part well but to little purpose. We did not separate till w e had exchanged cards, and my delightful German had made some inquiries about my hotel-, he was not suited where he was and was on the lookout for a chance to improve his ?[uarters, and as he had an especial Hkiag or Americans—" tney were so much more like Germans than the English were”—and had many questions to ask about that country, he should be delighted to stop beneath the same roof with me, if the locality suited him, etc., etc. Accordingly, next day, at twelve m., he called around. Ws had lunch together and much interesting conversation. He proved extremely well-informed about England and the and was extremely entertaining. He had much to

say about a London friend of his, a banker, who bad lived in America, and whom I ought to know. Alter an hour spent in this war, be proposed a walk, and said, if I wished it, he wonld present me to his friend. . ' J ."••.uVi To this, after some hesitation, I assented, and we set out for King's Cross, a part of town I had not yet visited. After walking about half an hour, during which time my companion beguiled the way with a very lively account of a steeplechase he had recently taken part in through his Mend the banker, at nis suggestion we stopped at one of the numerous ale-houses for some refreshment. It was not a very inviting-looking place, and I felt disposed to take our ale standing at the bar, American fashion, and pass on; bnt my German was not going to be so coolly matter-of-fact as that, and led the way to ihe coffee-room, which, however, we found locked; but one of the bar-maids handed him the key, and we went in. It was a dingy, unused-looking room, with leather-cushioned benches around the sides, and tables in front of them. It struck me that there was some incongruity in our being in such a place. It seemed better adapted to some secret nocturnal revel. The two windows were high, shutting out all view of the street, and admitting but a scanty light. 1 sat down on a chair near the door, feeling a little constrained; but my companion passed over to the. further corner es the room, and sat down with such a hearty, masterly air that I followed hin\, and had soon aimed a blow at my lamentable reserve in a bumper of ale. While I was engaged in looking over some admirable Berlin photographs which my friend handed me, he made an excuse to go out. Not long thereafter there entered the room a man who drew my attention by his bewildered, excited manner. He took ofl his bat, mopped his brow with his handkerchief, and, niching around the room, {;ave each of the three bell-handles a vioent jerk.

“ The worst part of town I’ve been in yet,” said he, seating himself op my side of the room. “ Can’t even get a little Scotch whisky’ere. I went into a place just below ’ere, and, because I very naturally mistook the landlord for the waiter, I was insulted. 'Ow should I know?” said the innocent unsophisticated Englishman. “ I saw a man standing there with a hapron on, and says I, ‘ Waiter, bring me some Scotch whisky and ’ot water,’ and he swelled up and said, ‘ I’m not the waiter; I’m the landlord!’ “'All the same,’ said J. ‘I thought you was, and I want some whisky.’ ‘“But youcan'ave no whisky 'ere: I’ll not be called a waiter in my own ’ouse ’ So I told him to go to the deuce, and left the room;” and the ingenuous creature appealed to me if >it was not a shame ana an outrage, and I replied that it most assuredly was. “ I wonder if they know ’ow to treat strangers any better ’ere,” he said looking about the room. Just then a waiter appeared and the beloved “ ’ot Scotch” was soon before him. ; • He was a fine specimen of a young Englishman, with a round, fresh face, bright eyes, full rosy lips, a beard that had wanted the razor for three or four days, and withal an expression singularly boyish and ingenuous. He was well dressed in gray cheviot clothes, and wore the inevitable stove-pipe hat. “ It’s the first time I’ve been up to London, and I ’ope it’s the last,” he continued. “ I’ve seen enough of it.” Just here the German reappeared and was presently as interested as I was in the new arrival upon the scene, whom the Scotch whisky was making more and more garrulous and confidential. With the utmost naivete he went on to complain how queerly he had been treated in London-j

“ I did not get through my business till day l>efore yesterdav, when I thought before I left town, and as my case in court had come out so well, that I would go out and 'ave a little jollification. Mr. So-and-so, our lawyer, made me give him most of my money before I went out; but I kept back a few bank-notes that he didn’t know I 'ad. As I was walking on the Strand, a lady came rushing up to me and said: “ ‘ ’Ow hare you, Mr. Jones ?’ “ * Pretty near it,’ said I. ‘My name is not Jones, but it’s Johnson. All the same; no harm done, miss,’ and was going on, when she said: “ ‘ Is that the way you leave a lady ?’ “ ‘Leave a lady ?’ *aald 1, a deal surprised at her manner. “ * Yes,’ said she, ‘ leave a lady; that is not the way Mr. Jones would do.’ ‘“Pray, how would Mr. Jones do?’ said I. “ 4 Why, he would have taken nrc jln and treated me to a bottle of wine.’ “ ‘ Oh; if that’s all, you shall ’ave two bottles,’ said I. 4 Come on.’ “So we went into a place there, and blow me if she didn’t drink nearly two bottles of wine. I was amazed; I never saw a lady drink bo, and they charged mo outrageously for the wine—a guinea for the two bottles. Why, oar wine at ’ome don’t cost us half that. “Then she asked me to takehertosome rooms, I forgot the name; it began with ha—Hargyle Rooms; that’s it, and as 1 didn’t mind having a little fun and not to refuse a lady, said I, ' Corns on,’ and away we went. “Gentlemen,” said the innocent creature, “ you are strangere to me, but I trust vou’ll never mention what I am now telling you; I wouldn’t ’ave my sister Mary know it for a hundred pound.” We assured him he need have no fear of us, and urged him to proceed. “ While at the Hargyle,” resumed he, “ the girl (for I am convinced she was not a lady) wanted me to dance with her, but I could not dance, so she danced with two or three oilier gentlemen, and then came to me and asked me to get her a pair of gloves. I thought this a little houd, but off red ’er ’alf a crown, and told ’or to get them ’erself. This she refused; said she never paid less than a crown so? her gloves; wouldn’t be seen with a pair that cost only ’alf a crown; and, as I did not like to appear mean, I said, ‘Come out with me, you Bhall ’ave the gloves.’ I gave 'er a sovereign, and she told me to waitoutsidc while she went in and got the gloves. I paced up and down in front of the place for ’a]f an hour, and then went in to see what ’ad become of her, and get my Change. The shop-git 1 laughed, and said she’d been gone 'all an hsur; so I see I ’ad been sold, and went straight back to my hotel. “Luckily,” he continued, “I got a note changed when I paid for the wice, or I should ’ave given her a flve-poun’ note, and so lost it all.” The tone and manner in which this narrative was delivered were irresistibly mirth provoking, and we laughed Immoderately at the poor fellow's greenness. “Here,” said I to myself, “ is a specimen of my unsophistocated Englishman of the very first water. He is as fresh as a new-blown rose, and never ought to let go the apron-string of his Mary.”

My German said something about the danger of going about London with much money in one's pocket. “ I’m not afraid,” said the verdant, “ and I always carry my money right here too,” taking out from fee breast-pocket of his coat a loose package ol Bank of EnS and notes. “’Ow am I going to loae at with my ooet buttoned so?" But u\y friend assured him he might easily lose it; that he had better have left it wife his lawyer or' Ills banker; that he himaelf never carried but a few pounds about him, and no prudent traveler ever did, and, on appealing to me, 1 added my testimony to the same effect, declaring that I seldom left my hotel wife as much as a five-pound note In my pocket. “ But I ’ave enough more,” said fee complacent idiot, “if I lose this. You see, me and my sister Mary have just come into a little property—about £17,000 —feat is what brought me up to London; It’s an unpleasant subiect, a family quarrel, but right is right, and what the law gives one, feat he may call his own, mayn’t he? Well, the law has just given me and me sister Mary me father’s estate which me elder brother George had held since me father’s and mother’s death. This is ’ow it ’appened. The old family nurse, when she came to diq, let it out that me brother George was born out of wedlock—that is, before me father ana mother were married, and so was not fee legal heir of fee property. The old doctor was referred to, his dates were looked up and compared wife the parish records, and the nurse’s story was confirmed. So we went to law about it, and the case has just been decided in our favor in fee Court of Queen’s bench. It makes bad blood, but I shall not treat me brother George as he has treated me and sister Mary. After he has had time to cool off and think it over, I Bhali go to Mm and say, ‘ ’Ere. George, you are me brother, I cannot forget that—’ere, take this sum and set yourself up in business.’ ”

We both applauded'this good resolution, and .urged him by all means to carry it into effect. “ But George did not do just right wife the property,” he went on; “you see, part of it came from Uncle William, and Uncle William in his toll provided that £SOO of it should be disbursed among the poor, not the Hinglish poor only, but the poor of different nations. This brother George did not do. But this I shall do without delay, and to get this £SOO well off my ’anda, according to my huncle’s will, is now my chief concern. Hos course, I cannot go around looking up the poor—the needy cases—and must mostly depend upon others to do it tor me. I shall spend £IOO of it among the poor of my own town and neighborhood, and shall ’ope to meet trustworthy gentlemen now and then, whom I can rely upon to distribute a portion of it among the poor of their countries. I gave £SO of it yesterday to a gentleman at my ’otel from Glasgow, to spend among his pooi^” “A stranger to you?” said I, with reproof and astonisment in my look. “ Oh, yes; but then he showed me that lie had money of his own and did not need mine; that was all I required him to do,” The German and I exchanged glances as we finished our second ale, when the former said, speaking mypwn thought: “ Well, you’ll have little trouble in finding people to take your money on such terms. I, myself, would very gladly be charitable at some one else’s expense, and the late war has made many poor people in my country." “ Very well,” said the confiding stranger, “show me that you have £IOO oiyour own, and I will give you another hundred to disburse among your poor, and take I’our receipt for it) requiring you only to nsert an advertisement in the Time *, giv ing the names and dates, etc. All I want is to be able to show that my uncle’s will has been complied with, ana that I 'aven’t spent money that didn’t belong to me.” How the bait took! Whose benevolence would not have snapped at it ? Is it in human nature on its travels to let such golden opportunities slip ? And would it not instantly occur to one that if this fool and his money must part so soon, that it was the duty of an honest man to see to it that the money went into the proper channels?

“ And I, too,” said I, not without,afeeling of shame, as if I was about to be in som£ way u party to the robbery of this simpleton, “I, too, will bear your alms to some of the poor of my countiy, and see that they are judiciously bestowed.” “What poor have you in your country,” said he. “ Plenty of them,” said I; “ the freedmen, for instance, whom I sec much of, and who are much in need of help.” “AH right,” said he. “ Satisfy me that you have money of your own and do not need mine, and you shall have a hundred pounds.” “ I cariy no money with me,” 1 replied, “and you will have to come aroAd tQ my hotel.” - '“ Neither have I a hundred pourros,” said my companion, “ but I have some, I hardly know how much,” and he proceeded to take out and unroll some Bank-of-England notes. “ Show him what you have,” said he to me, significantly; “don’t let him think you are penniless.” “ On, I have only a little change,” I said; “not more than two guineas in all,” and, with embarrassment, I produced it in my open palm. “Put up your money, gentlemen,” said the verdant. “ I have no doubt yon are both responsible men, and can easily satisfy me that you are fit persons to act as my agents in this matter.” “ Come to my hotel,” said the German, “and I can show you five times the amount, or to my banker, whose place is near here.” “ Yes,” I Joined in, “ meet us this afternoon or this evening at my hotel, and we will show you that we are all right.” “ No, I must leave town to-night; me sister Mary will be expecting me.” “ Then,” suggested the German, “ let’s arrange it now. Where do you need to go,” be inquired of me, “to get the money.” “ To my hotel and to my banker’s both,” I said. “ Where is your banker!” _ “ On Lombard street.” “ Well, that will suit me, too, as I know a banker there, and can get all the money I need.” The Englishman would pledge ns in another glass before we started, though I barely tasted my ale, the two glasses I had already imbibed having had a strange affect upon me. “ Here la a sovereign,” he said, “to pay for the cab; this is to accommodate me. and I insist upon paying." The German took the gold, called a cab, and we were off, it being agreed that the Englishman should wait there till we returned. “ It is the most astonishing performance I ever he”*d of,” said I. “ Can If be possible ti.at such a fool can be at large

twenty-four hours in london without being robbed ?” “ He runs a great risk,” paid my companion, “ and we had better keep an eye on him till he starts for home, or elso telegraph to Marv to come and look after him.” I found my banker, a man who bad known me long and intimately in this country, in bis private office, and l spread out my adventure before him in the most animated style. I felt it necessary to do I wanted to ask the loan of fifty pounds for a few hours, but before I baa got to that point, he said he could let me have the money if I did not happen to have it by me; it was by all means my duty to accept fee osier the stranger had made, etc., etc. He called his partner, a native Londoner, and related the singular circumstance to him; he opened his eyes very wide, but said little. As I was leaving my banker said : “ Yon don't suppose this is an attempt to rob you, do you ?” “ Oh, no," said I, “that is out of the question.” When I regained the cab, my companion was not there; I supposed he had not returned from his bankers vet; but 1 presently saw him emerging from behind a near cab, whence it instantly occurred to me that he had been watching my We got in and "drove toward my hotel. Presently a feeling came over me precisely like a bucket of cold water, feat here was a skillfully played game to rob me. But no, it could not be;'the thought was too ugly; I put it from me; I was not going to give up that hundred pounds so easily. But the feeling would come back in spite of me, and gradually fee scales fell from my eyes. Wife what a rude shock I came down from the seventh heaven of delight, whither the drugged ale and the benevolent impulse had "sent me, to the unpalatable reality! I suddenly noticed it was raining and that London looked its dismalest. 1 glanced at my companion, and quickly understood a peculiar look about the eyes he bad had all that day—a sort of strained, furtive, half-excited look, such as one might have when playing a risky and desperate game. I recalled, too, how he had approached from behind feat cab, and remembered that I had seen his legs beneath it as I came out of fee bank. I recalled, also, with what caution and skill the Englishman had played bis part, and the many little touches he had given it, such as onlv a real artist would think of. Well, said I to myself, this is my simple, pastoral Britisher, is it* But how well he knows his business! What a master workman and how juicy and human!

My companion talked gayly, but evidently noticed a change in me. When we reached the hotel, he invited himself up to my room to see my quarters, etc. As I was moving about under one pretense or another, I caught his sye in the glass intently watching me. Having taken the bank notes from my trunk, that I had come up for, we went down. I lingered in the hall long enough to tell the porter —a stout, soldierly-looking fellow —that I wanted his services about an hour, and that I wished him to take a cab and follow us, and when we alighted to alight also and enter, but a few moments later. I was determined to see the play oat, but I did not want to be alone in that room again with those two men. as we rode along my, thoughts were busy. What should he done ! Did I want to cause the arrest of these men, and have myself detained as a witness? I thought not; that would spoil the farce; it would not be the least bit of an artistic finish. I was in their toils, but did not want to break out 100 rudely. I would give them a good hint, which I knew such artists would appreciate more ttana kick; so, turning to my companion, I said: “Do you know, I believe this is a plan to rob us?” “ It can’t be, can it?” he replied, with an alarmed look. “Yes,” said I, “it is; that fellow has accomplices, and he means to get our mo ley. Do you go armed ?” I continued. “No,” saia he; “doyou?” “ Always; an American carries a pistol as much as he carries a jack-knife, and he isn’t afraid to use it, either.” “ So I have heard,” said the German, leoki ig wistfully out of the carriage. “ But you wouldn’t shoot a man, would you?” he inquired. “ Let him try to rob ire,” said I, “ and you will see whether I will or not.” Just then the cab stopped at our destination. As we got out 1 saw ancther cab stop about half a square from us. My companion made an excuse to step across the street, and I passed into the hall. Our simpleton was still there, apparently mellower than ever over his “ ’ot Scotch.” He asked where my friend was, and, as he did not immediately appear, said he would step out and hurry him up. The porter had by this time entered the room, though the bar-maid had tried to stop him, and ordered' some ale. He glanced at me significantly as the Englishman went out, and I felt pretty sure the play was over. We sipped our ale and waited, but no one returned. I went out and looked, but could see nothing of either of them. In about twenty minutes a large man opened the door, looked in as if he expected to find someone (I knew at a glance that it was the “ banker” friend of the German, who had come to play his part), and then hastily withdrew. We tarried some time longer, but it became apparent that my two confiding friends naa unceremoniously deserted me, or had gone ofl and divided the poor fund between them. —John Burroughs in Scribner't Monthly.