kes were too high, and
the purses of his companions too long for him to stand against any
continued run of bad luck; indeed, the play at Wattier's, which was very
deep, eventually ruined the club, as well as Brummell and several other
members of it; a certain baronet now living, according to Captain Jesse,
is asserted to have lost ten thousand pounds there at _Ecarte_ at one
sitting.(131)

(131) Life of Beau Brummell.

The season of 1814 saw Brummell a winner, and a loser likewise--and this
time he lost not only his winnings, but 'an unfortunate ten thousand
pounds,' which, when relating the circumstance to a friend many
years afterwards, he said was all that remained at his banker's. One
night--the fifth of a most relentless run of ill-luck--his friend
Pemberton Mills heard him exclaim that he had lost every shilling, and
only wished some one would bind him never to play again:--'I will,'
said Mills; and taking out a ten-pound note he offered it to Brummell
on condition that he should forfeit a thousand if he played at White's
within a month from that evening. The Beau took it, and for a few days
discontinued coming to the club; but about a fortnight after Mills,
happening to go in, saw him hard at work. Of course the thousand pounds
was forfeited; but his friend, instead of claiming it, merely went up to
him and, touching him gently on the shoulder, said--'Well, Brummell, you
may at least give me back the ten pounds you had the other night.'

Among the members who indulged in high play at Brookes' Club was
Alderman Combe, the brewer, who is said to have made as much money in
this way as he did by brewing. One evening whilst he filled the office
of Lord Mayor, he was busy at a full Hazard table at Brookes', where the
wit and the dice-box circulated together with great glee, and where Beau
Brummell was one of the party. 'Come, Mash-tub,' said Brummell, who was
the _caster_, 'what do you _set?_' 'Twenty-five guineas,' answered the
Alderman. 'Well, then,' returned the Beau, 'have at the mare's pony' (a
gaming term for 25 guineas). He continued to throw until he drove home
the brewer's twelve ponies running; and then getting up, and making him
a low bow, whilst pocketing the cash, he said--'Thank you, Alderman;
for the future I shall never drink any porter but yours.' 'I wish, sir,'
replied the brewer, 'that every other blackguard in London would tell me
the same.'(132)

(132) Jesse, _ubi supra_.

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