Intending to make a good day’s work and gather a rich harvest, I took with me every shilling I had in the world—­not only my previous winnings, but my hard-earned savings at the Bar.  I began to lose, but went on playing, in the vain hope—­the worst hope of the gambler—­of retrieving what I had lost and recovering my former luck.  But it was not to be; the table was against me.  I forsook my loyalty to black and laid on red.  Alas! red was no better friend.  I lost again, and knew now that all my Epsom winnings had found their way once more into the keeper’s pocket.  A fortnight’s loan was all I had of them.  It was a pity they had not been given to some charity.  But I kept on bravely enough, and did not despair or leave off while I had a half-crown left.  That half-crown, however, was soon raked up with the rest into the keeper’s bag.

I was bankrupt, with nothing in my pocket but twopence and a return ticket from Paddington.

Hopeless and helpless, I had learnt a lesson—­a lesson you can only learn in the school of experience.

I little thought then that the only certain winner at the gaming-table is the table itself, and made up my mind as I walked alone and disappointed through Windsor Park, on my way to the station, that I would never touch a card again—­and I never did.

For the first time since setting out in the morning I felt hungry, and bought a pennyworth of apples at a little stall kept by an old woman, and a bottle of ginger-beer.  Such was my frugal meal; and thus sustained I tramped on, my return ticket being my only possession in the world.  I reached Paddington with a sorry heart, and walked to the Temple, my good resolution my only comfort; but it was all-sufficient for the occasion and for all time to come.

CHAPTER XI.

“CODD’S PUZZLE.”

Having somewhat succeeded in my practice at Quarter Sessions, I enlarged my field of adventure by attending the Old Bailey, hoping, of course, to obtain some briefs at that court; and although I abandoned the practice as a rule, I was, in after-life, on many occasions retained to appear in cases which are still fresh in my memory.  I was with Edwin James, who was counsel for Mr. Bates, one of the partners of Strahan and Sir John Dean Paul, bankers of the Strand, and who were sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation for fraudulently misappropriating securities of their customers.  I was counsel for a young clerk to Leopold Redpath, the notorious man who was transported for extensive forgeries upon the Great Northern Railway.  The clerk was justly acquitted by the jury.

My recollection of this period brings back many curious defences, which illustrate the school of advocacy in which I studied.  Whether they contributed to my future success, I do not know, but that they afforded amusement is proved by my remembering them at all.

Hertford and St. Albans were my chief places, my earliest attachments, and are amongst my pleasantest memories.  It seems childish to think of them as scenes of my struggles, for when I come to look back I had no struggles at all.  I was merely practising like a cricketer at the nets; there was nothing to struggle for except a verdict when it would not come without some effort.