At times, Mr. O'Brodereque's
customers have the very unenviable consolation of knowing that a
small document called a mortgage of their real and personal property
remains in his hands, which he will very soon find it necessary to
foreclose.
It is dark,--night has stolen upon us again,--the hour for the raffle
is at hand. The saloon, about a hundred and forty feet long by forty
wide, is brilliantly lighted for the occasion. The gas-lights throw
strange shadows upon the distemper painting with which the walls are
decorated. Hanging carelessly here and there are badly-daubed
paintings of battle scenes and heroic devices, alternated with
lithographic and badly-executed engravings of lustfully-exposed
females. Soon the saloon fills with a throng of variously-mixed
gentlemen. The gay, the grave, the old, and the young men of the
fashionable world, are present. Some affect the fast young man;
others seem mere speculators, attracted to the place for the purpose
of enjoying an hour, seeing the sight, and, it may be, taking a
throw for the "gal." The crowd presents a singular contrast of
beings. Some are dressed to the very extreme of fantastic fashion,
and would seem to have wasted their brains in devising colours for
their backs; others, aspiring to the seriously genteel, are
fashioned in very extravagant broadcloth; while a third group is
dressed in most niggardly attire, which sets very loosely. In
addition to this they wear very large black, white, and
grey-coloured felt hats, slouched over their heads; while their
nether garments, of red and brown linsey-woolsey, fit like
Falstaff's doublet on a whip stock.
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