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Updated: May 5, 2025
It is one o'clock, and he goes down stairs and out of the house. Still smoking, he passes along Broadway until he reaches Thiel's. He hurries up, and finds only a few desperate gamblers. Abel himself looks a little wild and flushed. He sits down defiantly and plays recklessly. The hours are clanged from the belfry of the City Hall. The lights burn brightly in Thiel's rooms.
The drive was along the old Boston road, and the rendezvous, Cato's Cato Alexander's near the present shot-tower. If the gentlemen returned alone, they finished the evening at Benton's, in Ann Street, where they played a game of billiards; or at Thiel's retired rooms over the celebrated Stewart's, opposite the Park, where they indulged in faro.
Patrick's but the great population of the city was at home. Except, among the rest, a young man who comes hastily out of Thiel's, over Stewart's a young man of flowing black hair and fiery black eyes, which look restlessly and furtively up and down Broadway, which seems to the young man odiously and unnaturally bright. He gains the street with a bound.
The bell of the City Hall clangs three in the morning as a young man emerges from Thiel's, and hurries, then saunters, up Broadway. His motions are fitful, his dress is deranged, and his hair matted. His face, in the full moonlight, is dogged and dangerous. It is the Prince of the feast, who had told Grace Plumer that he was perfectly happy.
He hurries up the street; tossing many thoughts together calculating his losses, for the black-haired young man has lost heavily at Thiel's faro-table wondering about payments remembering that it is Sunday morning, and that he is to attend a young lady from the South to church a young lady whose father has millions, if universal understanding be at all correct thinking of revenge at the table, of certain books full of figures in a certain counting-room, and the story they tell story known to not half a dozen people in the world; the black-eyed youth, in evening dress, alert, graceful, but now meandering and gliding swiftly like a snake, darts up Broadway, and does not seem to hear the bells, whose first stroke startled him as he sat at play, and which are now ringing strange changes in the peaceful air: Come, Newt!
As he and his friends passed up Broadway toward Chambers Street they met Abel Newt hastening down to Bunker's to accompany Miss Plumer to Grace Church. The young man had bathed and entirely refreshed himself during the hour or two since he had stepped out of Thiel's.
"I came to ask you if you know any thing about Abel?" said Hope. "No; nothing in particular," replied Fanny; "I believe he's going to Congress; but I never see him or hear of him." "Doesn't Alfred see him?" "He used to meet him at Thiel's; but Alfred doesn't go there much now. It's too fine for poor gentlemen.
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