Publisher's Synopsis
His name was Charlie Mears; The only son of his mother, who was a widow, he lived in north London, from where he came to the city every day to work in a bank. He was twenty years old and overflowing with aspirations. I met him in a billiard saloon where the marker called him by his nickname, while he called the marker Bull's eye. Charlie explained to me, a little nervously, that he had only come there to watch; and, as it is no cheap amusement for young people to watch games of skill, I suggested that Charlie had better go back to his mother.
