WeRead Powered by ReaderPub
Floyd's Flowers; Or, Duty and Beauty for Colored Children / Being One Hundred Short Stories Gleaned from the Storehouse of Human Knowledge and Experience: Simple, Amusing, Elevating cover

Floyd's Flowers; Or, Duty and Beauty for Colored Children / Being One Hundred Short Stories Gleaned from the Storehouse of Human Knowledge and Experience: Simple, Amusing, Elevating

Chapter 48: XLIII. BURT BANKSTON’S BEQUEST.
Open in WeRead

Explore more books like this:

About This Book

The collection gathers one hundred short, illustrated pieces aimed at young readers, particularly colored children, combining moral tales, practical advice, and brief biographical sketches. Stories and essays promote virtues such as honesty, industry, patience, self-help, and temperance while addressing common childhood behaviors and dilemmas. Interspersed are sketches of notable figures, humorous anecdotes, and guidance on reading, play, and conduct. Simple language and plentiful illustrations are intended to instruct and elevate while entertaining.

XLIII.
BURT BANKSTON’S BEQUEST.

Burt Bankston was a noted Kentucky gambler. Those who knew him best said that he had some redeeming traits. He never drank whiskey; he used tobacco in no form; and he seldom indulged in profanity. Moreover he frequently went to church.

The Gambler.

But he never made any excuses for his gambling. He rather defended it, saying that gambling was not a sport or pastime with him, but a business. He said he gambled for the same reason that a man kept a store or practiced law—for a living.

His wife declared that he was peaceable and quiet at home. The only fault she found with him, according to her own testimony, was that he kept late hours and often spent the whole night away from home. And she begged him many times to quit the gambling table. Her appeal always fell on deaf ears.

“Burt, I’m going to quit; I’ve got enough; this is my last night at this kind of thing.” The speaker was Bill Mobley, one of Burt’s chums.

“All right, Bill,” said Burt, “I guess I’ll follow you in a few days; I’m getting old now.”

The next morning Bill Mobley was found dead upon the streets of Lecompton. Whether he had taken his own life or been sandbagged on his way home was never found out.

From that day forward no man ever saw Burt Bankston in a gambling house. He opened a grocery store—that failed. He started a laundry—that fell through. He tried a peanut stand; he peddled flowers about the street. Compared with his former high living, his existence was miserable. His wife died after a few years. Friends said that she died of remorse, or a broken heart, or something of that kind. She could not bear to live on after her husband’s downfall—that is, his downfall in the eye of the world. Soon after she died Burt was stricken with a dreadful sickness. He came near dying. By-and-by he was restored to health, but he was broken and bent with old age. Friends pitied him, and secured him a place as watchman at a celebrated orphan’s home.

The Gambler—In Old Age.

At last one day Burt Bankston died, everybody believing him to be a pauper. When his will was probated it was found that he left an estate worth nearly $500,000. This sum Burt designated to be divided into three parts—one part to be devoted to the common school education of the masses; another part to the work of the Y. M. C. A., and the third to the orphan asylum. Among other things, in the body of the will Burt Bankston said:

“For twenty years I was a gambler. The past twenty years I have spent repenting. I advise all young men to let gambling alone; and I hope that those who may be benefited by my bequest may be willing to follow the advice of one who has passed through the fire.”