'IF I LOSE I SHALL COMMIT SUICIDE.'
A young man having gambled away his last shilling, solicited the
loan of a few pounds from one of the proprietors of the hell in
which he had been plundered. 'What security will you give me?'
asked the fellow. 'My word of honour,' was the reply. 'Your
word of honour! That's poor security, and won't do,' rejoined
the hellite; 'if you can pawn nothing better than that, you'll
get no money out of me.' 'Then you won't lend me a couple of
pounds?' 'Not without security,' was the reply. 'Why, surely,
you won't refuse me a couple of sovereigns, after having lost so
much?' 'I won't advance you a couple of shillings without
Still bent upon play, and greedy for the means to gratify his
passion, the unhappy man, as if struck by a sudden thought,
exclaimed--'I'll give you security--the clothes on my back are
quite new, and worth eight guineas; you shall have them as
security. Lend me two sovereigns on them.'