MODERN BETTING ILLUSTRATED AND EXPLAINED.

I.

Having received the selection of his tipster, or having become enamoured of a horse selected by himself, the bettor proceeds to his club or other rendezvous where he knows he will find a bookmaker ready to lay the odds against the horse of his choice.

In this he finds no difficulty. In large towns and cities, and in smaller seats of population also, there are persons whose business it is to accommodate such customers. Bookmakers and backers have many ways of coming together; they meet at divers times and seasons and in divers places as a matter of course, and during those months when there is little or no horse-racing they keep up acquaintance with each other at billiard matches and in their clubs; indeed, sporting events of some kind on which "a nice little bit of betting" may crop up are always on the tapis, whilst during the winter season there are usually a score or so of steeple-chase meetings which are provocative of speculation in bookmaking and betting circles. The great coursing meetings which take place in the season when racing is pretty much at a standstill also give rise to a vast amount of betting, of which very little is known, because it is not published from day to day.

The enormous extent to which betting on horse-racing goes on all the year round is known to those only who make the matter a special study. It has been computed by persons who should know that not less than five thousand bookmakers are daily engaged throughout the United Kingdom in laying the odds against horses to stakes ranging from sixpence to perhaps, on some occasions, as much as five hundred or even a thousand pounds. Taking it, for illustrative purposes, that each layer of the odds deals only with a hundred customers, it becomes obvious that there must be at least five hundred thousand persons engaged in betting. The exact number, however, could it be ascertained, would doubtless prove much in excess of these figures. Were it said that at present there are over a million persons who take an interest in horse-racing or in some of the other sports and pastimes of the period to the extent of backing their opinions by a bet, it would not probably be an exaggeration.

In one Scottish city there is, it has been calculated, a hundred bookmakers at work every day on the streets or in clubs or offices, doing business with all comers at market rates, and to stakes varying in amount from shillings and half-crowns to "tenners and ponies" (£25). As that city contains a population of over half a million individuals, it affords data for calculating that there may be two hundred bookmakers for each million of the population congregated in the great cities and larger towns of the kingdom, which for London alone would give more than one thousand layers of the odds, whilst Manchester, Liverpool, Bradford, Leeds, and Birmingham, will undoubtedly have a number correspondent to their population. "Here, every one bets," said a London club steward one evening to the writer, whilst busy entering names for the annual Derby sweep, "every one from the City to the West End; the cabman who brought you from the railway station, the porter who took your hat, the man who sold you that copy of the special Standard, all bet, and in hundreds of our public-houses and tobacconists' shops you can find a bookmaker if you want him."

A glance at what takes place in large cities and big provincial towns every day, but more particularly on days set apart for the decision of important races, shows hundreds of people rushing about to interchange their tips and opinions and to learn what is being done. On such days telegraphic messages rain into the more important clubs, of which there are from six to twenty in each of the towns named, and in these places from three to thirty bookmakers will be found ready to bet with all comers.

In these clubs may be seen groups of bettors each with an eye on "the tape," which winds out its automatic lists of the running horses, their jockeys, and the odds at which they are being backed in the ring, followed in due course by the name of the winning and placed horses and that important item of information, the "starting price," so much valued by bettors. As race follows race the same routine is repeated, so that a flutter of excitement is kept up till the programme is exhausted. Winners over the first race take heart and go on speculating, while men who have lost make an effort to retrieve their bad fortune by extending their investments, and thus the game continues till the last race of the day has been decided.

There are men constantly engaged in betting who in their own circles are not suspected of doing so. Some of them do so by the aid of friends who possess a knowledge of the business, others steal into the bookmakers' offices, and looking about them fearful of being observed, whisper their business to the layer of the odds or his clerk. The lame and halt, the blind and dumb, the rich and the ragged, daily rub shoulders in quest of fortune in the betting arena. Men with well-ventilated boots and guiltless of linen under-garments pass their shillings or half-crowns into the jewelled hand of the bookmaker, who at once rattles off an entry to his clerk: "6 to 1 Gold for the Fortunatus Stakes."

A score, perhaps, of such poverty-stricken gamblers could not among them muster clothes of the value of the albert chain and pendant hung from the watch of the bookmaker's penciller.

Racing to-day spreads itself over a wide field, and to witness the decision of such races as the Derby or St. Leger Stakes, the Chester Cup, the City and Suburban Handicap, or the Royal Hunt Cup at Ascot, tens of thousands will assemble between the classes and the masses, each person seemingly more interested than the other. Some are on the scene from pure love of sport, others from their desire to bet, and when a race is decided, especially one of the great handicaps which give rise to so much betting, tens, nay, hundreds of thousands of pounds will have been lost and won, the sum total being of course made up by a vast number of small and many large transactions.

Varied estimates have been formed of the amount annually expended in betting or horse-racing. At the Doncaster St. Leger Meeting, which lasts four days, there will probably be thirty races run, from four to fifteen horses competing in each. To accommodate the persons who bet on these races there will be on the ground not less, all told, than five hundred bookmakers, and assuming that only £20 are drawn by each of them over every race, that would represent a total amount of £300,000 risked on the thirty races run during the four days. An exponent of racing finance said some years ago, in an article contributed to The Edinburgh Review: "Taking it for granted that £1,500 only is risked by bettors on each of the small races run during the season, and that there are say 2,600 such contests, the total will amount to nearly four millions sterling! To that sum must be added the money risked on the larger races. On the popular betting handicaps, such as that run at Lincoln, the City and Suburban, the Royal Hunt Cup, the Northumberland Plate, and several other important racing events, not forgetting the two great Newmarket handicaps of October, quite a million sterling will be represented."

To affirm that a sum of from four to five million pounds is annually risked in bets on horse-races looks like wishing to play on the credulity of the public, but good reasons exist for believing that the amount named is about right, and under rather than over the real total, could it be ascertained. It is still possible to back a horse running in a big handicap to win from twenty to fifty thousand pounds. Roseberry, the property of Mr. James Smith, won both the Cesarewitch and Cambridgeshire in the same year; Mr. Smith taking, it was stated at the time, a sum of over a hundred thousand pounds out of the ring by the victory of his horse. The event was remarkable as being the first occasion on which these two races were won by the same animal. The public benefited largely by the victory of Roseberry; it would be no exaggeration perhaps to say that two hundred thousand pounds would fall to be paid in all, but the bookmakers had of course the sums betted against all the other horses that ran to pay with. There were twenty-nine running in that year's Cesarewitch, all of which were backed at some price or other, the favourite, Woodlands, which started at the odds of 4½ to 1 against its chance, being heavily supported.

There are writers on turf matters who maintain that there is not now so much betting as there used to be, but that contention can only apply to particular races; for, as a matter of fact, there is in reality five times the amount of turf speculation to-day that there was forty or fifty years since. Take Scotland as an example; half a century ago there was no person earning a living by "bookmaking" alone. True, the "lists" have been "put down," but clubs have arisen, where betting, as has been stated, is going on every day and all day long. Races to which the lists applied were, comparatively speaking, seldom on the tapis, although betting on them, it is right to say, began long before the day fixed for the event to be decided, so that bettors were afforded ample opportunities to "back their fancy." Even at present there are books open on the Cesarewitch and the Cambridgeshire months before the horses are entered for them.

The English betting men lately carrying on business in the French towns of Boulogne and Calais betted on these handicaps, as may be said, all the year round. These bookmakers betted with all comers chiefly for ready money, and have been known to lay from five to fifteen thousand pounds against each of two or three of the horses engaged in a popular race. With the daily betting now prevalent, and the occasional spurts which take place over important races held at Manchester, Derby, Leicester, Sandown and Kempton Parks, it may be taken for granted that the amounts involved, so far as totals are concerned, are greatly in excess of what they have ever previously been estimated as being.

Those who maintain that "the betting of to-day is nothing to that of forty years ago," usually cite in proof of their assertion the large sums which were wont to change hands over the Derby, such as the £50,000 won over St. Giles, or the £150,000 that Teddington's victory cost the ring, one of the members of which paid one of his customers a sum of £15,000 the morning after the race. Many reminiscences of big sums lost and won over the Blue Ribbon of the Turf have appeared in print, and also of the amounts won at the lists. These were large, no doubt, but the money as a rule went into few hands. When the big bettors, who had the entrée of Tattersall's, were paid their twos and threes or ten thousand pounds the money was exhausted; but not fewer than twelve or fifteen thousand individuals would probably draw from five to fifty pounds each over Bluegown's victory in London, whilst quite as many persons scattered over the United Kingdom would pocket lesser sums.

That the "small money" expended to-day in betting soon accumulates can be easily proved. Here is one way, for instance, of arriving at an illustration: there are at the present time about twelve thousand public-houses in London, nearly all the frequenters of which take some degree of interest in the Derby or other race, and assuming that each house on the average has two hundred and fifty regular customers, of which one hundred will have a bet on some race of the season, that gives a big figure. Should each person back a horse by even the outlay of a modest half-crown, the total money so invested would sum up to the very handsome amount of something like £150,000, and certainly quite as much would be risked by more daring backers.

In this view of the case it is in vain to tell us that betting is declining, either on the Derby or any other event of turf speculation. The great obstacle to big bets being made is the miserly rate of odds now offered by bookmakers. In the case of Surefoot, that did not win the Derby of 1890, the odds laid on that horse at the start required the investment of £90 to win £40, a luxury that only people with more money than brains were able to afford.

In the turf market the bettors—the backers are here meant—have, of course, the worst of the deal throughout, the money risked finding its way into a very few hands at the end of the chapter. Backers come and backers go day by day, but the bookmaker, who plays a prudent part, holds his place and strengthens his position more and more. Those familiar with the incidents of betting know full well that not one backer of horses in every hundred can live at "the game." Most bookmakers see ninety-nine of their clients go down, many of them with great rapidity, the kind, for example, that come on Tuesday morning and are squeezed out by Friday afternoon. Others prolong the struggle for a time by being able to fight a stronger battle, being, perhaps, more prudent or better provided with capital. Few of those who in any one year begin to back horses with the running of the Lincolnshire Handicap are able to live at the business to the date of the Cambridgeshire, which is the last "great" race of the season.

Every now and again "plungers," as they are called in the slang of the period, make their appearance in the betting rings and carry on their betting with an enormous flourish of trumpets. The financial feats which they perform in backing horses are frequently chronicled by the sporting press, and thus it is we learn that "Mr. Blank" ("the famous plunger" of the period) "had another series of fortune-yielding innings yesterday, having landed over sixteen hundred pounds on the day's racing."

Such good fortune is, however, phenomenal and seldom lasts long; besides, no one takes the trouble to chronicle the many bad days which Mr. Blank is fated to encounter, the outcome of which leads, as a matter of course, to the usual finale. Beginning on the plan of dealing for ready money dealings only, the plunger ultimately does a large business on the usual credit terms of settlement every Monday, and in the course of a few months the racing public learn that the great man has come to grief, and is offering a composition of five shillings in the pound, in order to lighten his liabilities. So it is in time with all who tread the same path, even with those of them who come from the other side of the Atlantic to break the English betting ring, and who for a season look as if they would prove successful.

Many schemes are resorted to by the bigger class of betting men to obtain information. Jockeys are pumped, trainers are interviewed, stablemen are bribed with the view of enabling the plunger to land a big bet or two at every meeting. There are men, of course, who would scorn to take a vulgar money bribe, but who do not scruple to receive a case or two of champagne, or a ten-gallon cask of whisky, nor are they very angry when some energetic person sends their wife a diamond ring or their daughter a gold watch. Upon one occasion while visiting a training establishment, the writer was struck with the display of jewellery which adorned the person of a trainer's wife; probably enough, none of the ladies of those owners who had horses in that man's stables possessed such a valuable collection of gems as she wore on her fingers and bosom, nor did the lady evince much reluctance about giving their history—she was not reticent.

It has from time to time been hinted that the money lost by backers of horses finds its way to a good amount into the coffers of a few turf sharks who are banded together in "a ring," and who have dealings with not a few of the training fraternity as well as with a number of the jockeys. There may be a degree of truth in what has been said by certain newspapers with regard to this mode of conspiracy, but much of this kind of gossip which percolates through the columns of the press is only gossip—not gospel. Even if it were founded on fact it would be difficult to find proof of such misdeeds. Those persons who have the best chances of making money by means of horse-racing are the men who act as go-betweens for jockeys, or for trainers, or for such owners of horses as are also keen betting men. Of late years one or two of this fraternity have come to the front, having proved wonderfully successful at the business and put money in their purses, honestly it is to be hoped. At any rate they have become wealthy, and from being helpers or touts on the training-grounds have "risen," as one gushing writer said about them. In other words, they have now a bank account and enjoy the luxury of clean linen and water-tight boots, which hundreds of men who back their "fancy" cannot hope for.

When the tide of "luck" favours those men who court the smiles of Fortune in racing circles, she seems to lavish her treasures on them with an unsparing hand. There are men now living at Newmarket worth thousands of pounds that ten or twelve years since would have found it difficult to scrape together ten shillings. These are among the men who have "risen," and so dazzled the eyes of some of the gentlemen of the sporting press. When they own a horse or two, as several now do, and one of their animals proves successful in winning a race, they are at once elevated another step, and spoken of by some writers as "the astute Mr. So-and-So," or as Mr. This-and-That, "the clever and intelligent owner" of Cheek and other well-known horses.

During recent years much has been written and said against the system of betting for ready money. Of all the "fads" (the reader is asked to excuse this vulgarism) connected with gambling on the turf that have become prominent during recent years the denunciation of ready money betting is certainly the most extraordinary—the most abused of them all. Ready money betting has been declared illegal. But why should betting in ready money be wrong if betting on credit be right? If any kind of betting be proper it most assuredly should be betting for ready money, than which there ought to be no other kind of betting. The rules of logic were never surely so much set at naught as when it was decreed that betting by means of the payment of ready money—that is to say the depositing of the stakes—should be stigmatised as being illegal. Probably by an interpretation of the law there is no such thing as legal betting; it has hitherto been held that betting of any kind is illegal. Bets are not recoverable at law; but bets made by one party who acts as agent for another party can be sued for, and may be recovered; at any rate the person who instructs an agent to make a bet on his behalf can be sued in a court of law for the amount of the stake. It surely is reasonable to argue that if betting for ready money be bad, betting on credit is worse. Everything points to the probability of betting when it began being for ready money only, and that as a rule stakes on both sides were deposited pending the event to be decided. Why should it not be so to-day?

With the advent of credit betting began the reign of the "blacklegs," the nefarious frauds and swindles, the poisonings and pullings, the watering and watching of horses, with which men who interest themselves in the sport of kings are now so familiar. Judging from the tone of recent legislation, what our parliamentarians are wroth about is, that betting has become a business requiring the intervention of that middle man, the obnoxious "bookmaker," but it is really better that it should be so, if betting on horse-racing is to be allowed to be continued in any shape. Why should men who will never cease to bet so long as horse-racing goes on be driven to bet one with another, which is the worst form of speculation? Who can mention any more humiliating spectacle than that furnished by a "noble" sportsman "doing" his friend over the Derby, or some other race? In reality that is the kind of betting pointed at by some of our turf big-wigs as being the best form of speculation of the kind; to these men the bookmaker is a disgust.

It is earnestly to be hoped, if horse-racing is to endure, in which event there must be betting, that the bookmaker will be permitted to ply his pencil, as also that he will be licensed by the Jockey Club and be authorised to bet for ready money only. The writer of the article in The Edinburgh Review, already referred to, puts the case in favour of ready money in a forcible fashion: "If a man were compelled to deposit his stake every time he made a bet, he would be more cautious in betting. Put me down the odds to a monkey is easy to say, but the monkey (£500) is not so easy to pay if the bet is lost, and were it to pay at the moment the chances are that no monkey would be put down."

Betting between private friends is a horror of the worst description. Think of Major Bobadil laying Ensign Simple 100 to 25 against a horse which he knows will never be started for the race it is being backed to win. In such circumstances what would be a proper designation for Major Bobadil, blackguard or blackleg? It will of course be said, if you go to a bookmaker he possesses the same knowledge, and so he may; but then the bookmaker is neither your mess-fellow nor your private friend. Persons who are determined to bet ought never to bet with a friend, but should invariably resort to the professional bookmaker.

It is not necessary to say much more about this phase of betting, because the arguments against credit and in favour of ready money are so obvious and so strong as not to require voluminous illustration. It is quite certain that if a man were required to table his five, ten, or twenty sovereigns every time he made a bet, betting would speedily diminish, and far less would then be heard of "turf iniquities" and crimes of the turf. When, for instance, a man has betted for a week at Epsom, Ascot, or Newmarket, and fortune has gone against him, he will stick at nothing in order to be able to settle his account, as he may have interests at stake which demand imperatively that Monday shall see his account in process of liquidation. A man would not perhaps deliberately forge or steal to obtain a sum with which to make a ready money bet, but there are circumstances in which he would do so in order to settle his account when he has been betting on what is called "the nod" (credit).

The following is a case in point. A few years ago a man lost a heavy sum. He knew well that on the following Monday he must pay or a fine bet he had of £5,000 to £50 would be at once scratched; the horse backed having in the interval become a great favourite for the race. In such case to settle was imperative, and a settlement was accomplished; how the sum necessary to pay what was due was obtained was never made public, but it became known to several persons that a robbery of jewels, of a suspicious kind, took place at that gentleman's residence on the Saturday night following the decision of the race. A footman was apprehended on suspicion, but his master, saying it could not possibly be he who stole the jewels, declined to prosecute. Happily for the lady whose gems had been purloined, her husband won his big bet, and she was able to shine in a newly bought suite of diamonds.

A history of the rise and progress of betting would be full of interest. It takes two, and occasionally more than two, persons to make a bet, and, as has been indicated in a previous page, in the earlier days of horse-racing the amounts betted on both sides were usually deposited, or in racing argot the money in dispute was "staked," in the hands of a third party till the event betted upon could be decided. No data exists to show when the professional bookmaker as we know him came upon the scene; but it may be taken for granted that the "penciller" was not evolved at once, but that the system grew by means of what it fed on, originating, doubtless, in the practice adopted by certain gentlemen who, having made a series of bets, were anxious in consequence to get "round," as the process of hedging is called, or, in other words, to be in a position not to lose their money, or, to put the matter still more explicitly, to possess a fair chance of winning something and losing nothing. At the beginning of racing, and for a considerable time thereafter, what little betting occurred took place chiefly on the racecourses; but as time elapsed several men distinguished themselves, or, at least, became notorious, as "betting men," both giving and taking the odds all round, and accepting the odium of sometimes being called "legs" (blacklegs) by such persons as only made single bets, and objected to the wholesale modes of betting which were coming into fashion. Before Tattersall's was established as a betting centre, many gentlemen made their bets in the way indicated, namely, among themselves and with one another on the racecourse, or at their clubs and in their houses, and in the more primitive days of sport nearly always staking the amounts betted with a third party. As betting on horse-racing increased in magnitude, both in the number of bets made and the amounts betted, the bookmaker, or professional betting man, became a necessity, and, as usual, demand soon created supply.

Since it originated, the incidence of betting has undergone several changes. About the end of last century it was greatly the fashion to bet on one horse against the field, and that mode of turf speculation was long prevalent, and did not change into the present more extended way of doing business till the present century was well begun. Such betting was indulged in by the owners of race-horses, their humour finding a vent chiefly in arranging matches between their respective animals for sums of money, ranging perhaps from £50 to £5,000 as might be arranged.

The professional bookmakers who first took the field in opposition to the "gentlemen legs," as a few of the layers of the odds were designated, were not, so far as education and manners were concerned, particularly bright; but in consideration of their being prompt to pay when they lost, their defective education and lack of manners were overlooked. Several of the gentlemen who owned race-horses soon discovered that the mere winning of a stake by means of any particular race, however large the sum run for might be, did not reimburse them for the outlays which they had to make by keeping a stud of horses; hence the horse became an instrument of gambling, and remains so at the present time.

II.

Betting on greyhound coursing, especially in connection with the struggle for the Waterloo Cup, run for amid the distraction and ditches of Altcar, is assumed to be gambling in excelsis. When a person backs a horse for a race, the event is decided, so to speak, in an instant; there may of course be a dead heat, but dead heats are sufficiently rare, and need not be calculated upon. When a man bets on the Derby, he is delivered from all suspense within three or four minutes after the fall of the starter's flag. But it is not so in the case of the dogs. On the average of the courses decided at Altcar, a brace of greyhounds will keep the bettor in suspense for six minutes or so, and when it is considered, in the case of a stake in which sixty-four dogs take part, six races must be run before the backer of a dog to win the Cup can receive his money, it will be sufficiently obvious that very long odds ought to be obtained against those dogs which take part in the struggle. Such, however, as a rule, is not the case, and sanguine men have been known to accept odds against a dog which had six races to run, which they would have indignantly refused against a horse which had only to run once to win or lose them their money. In the case of one Waterloo Cup the winning dog actually ran eight times before it was declared to be entitled to the Blue Ribbon of the leash. What, then, it will be asked, by those who are unfamiliar with the incidents of coursing, are the rate of odds given and taken on such occasions? And if the odds offered are false, what are the figures which would really represent the true chances of the animals competing in a Waterloo Cup sixty-four?

Some questions, as all the world is aware, are much easier to ask than to answer, and the question just formulated is one of them. If the form of the sixty-four dogs which are nominated for the Waterloo Cup was utterly unknown, the price of each could only, of course, be represented at what may be called a very long figure—say, for the sake of even counting, 100 to 1—and when the first round of the struggle was finished, and thirty-two of the dogs defeated, the odds, even in that case, against the thirty-two survivors of the first act of the battle should still be considerable, five rounds of the battle having yet to be contested. But as the form of the dogs had become known from what they had accomplished in the first course, it is vain to expect that 40 to 1 will be offered by any of the bookmakers—although it is fully that sum, and much more, against half the number—because as the event proceeds sixteen of the dogs must be beaten, and so on to the end of the stake; the sixteen victors will in time be reduced to eight, four, two, and one. The task which is originally set before the bettor on the Waterloo Cup is, as a matter of fact, to select out of a pack of sixty-four dogs that one which will in the end be declared victor, and it is assuredly no easy task even to persons who are familiar with the previous performances of the animals. In dog races as in horse races, the favourite sometimes wins—and the Waterloo Cup has been taken more than once by the same animal—the winner on the second occasion starting at pretty short odds. Master McGrath, a dog belonging to the late Lord Lurgan, won the Cup three times, whilst the successes of Fullerton have been recently chronicled.

It is impossible to tell what may happen to dogs in such a struggle as the Waterloo Cup. Some which have previously shown good form in other coursing matches, even on the same ground, prove worthless while the battle of Waterloo is being fought, going down before, perhaps, a foe of no fame in the very first round. Even the very best greyhound must have good fortune on its side to achieve such a victory; it must, too, be in the best of health, it must get well away from slips, and be slipped against a lively hare, and then it must do all it knows to beat its opponent. A judge is appointed at all coursing meetings in order to decide which is the best dog in every pair that is slipped. He judges after a given fashion by awarding to the runners the "points" which they make, the dog which makes the greatest number being declared the winner of the course.

To those who are not "up" in the mysteries of coursing a brief explanation of the mode of judging may be given. Great powers are invested in the judge; what he says is law, and from his decision there is no appeal. The brace of dogs being in the slips are let loose by the slipper "at" a hare, which he runs them on to, so that they may see it. The speediest dog from the slips will receive one, two, or three marks, as the judge may determine, the number given being dependent on the opinion he may form of the race. For a "go-bye," the judge may award two or even three points. A "go-bye" is when a greyhound starts a clear length behind his companion, then passes him and gets a length in front. For turning the hare one point is given; for a "wrench," which means diverting the hare from its course at less than a right angle, half a point is awarded. For a "trip"—a trip is an unsuccessful effort to kill the hare on the part of the dog—one point is given by the judge. The killing of the hare obtains two points if it prove a very meritorious one. To the dog which, in its course, is awarded a majority of these marks the victory is given.

Critics and tipsters who attempt a week or ten days before the battle begins to point out the victor have a rather hard task set them, but on some occasions the winner is "spotted" with wonderful precision. As a matter of course, in dog prophecy as in predicting winners of horse-races, the tipsters either "follow the money" or depend on "public form" to pull them through.

Great complaints have been made in various quarters about the chicanery which in some years has been associated with the Waterloo Cup. Certain members of the committee are very jealous of the honour of this great coursing match being kept as free from any stain as possible; but those who have carefully studied the incidents of the great Altcar gathering are perfectly convinced that there is in connection with it, to designate it mildly, a good deal of "finessing": and a large amount of the gambling element has long been a most prominent feature of the meeting. In some years plenty of wagering takes place. The Waterloo Cup being set for decision at a season of the year when much horse-racing cannot take place, and when betting on horse-racing is not at all brisk, commands the speculation of the moment, and gives rise in consequence to a vast amount of gambling. As a popular writer on the turf says, the dogs give occasion for "one of the biggest gambles of the season."

So long as the Cup is constituted as at present, this game of speculation will continue. The gentlemen who have subscribed to the stake do not require to nominate the dog they intend to run till the evening preceding the first day of contest. It is obvious, therefore, that by this plan of procedure there is room for any amount of "manœuvring," and that a nomination may be backed to win perhaps £20,000 at pretty long odds, while in the end a dog may be named to fill it which, had its name been known, would have caused the nomination in which it was to run to become first favourite. This will be better explained by imagining that the present year's winner will be able to run again next year; if so, and the nomination in which it is to run be made public, it will assuredly be backed at a very short price, say 7 or 8 to 1, long before the night of the draw; indeed, the moment betting begins, which is usually about the middle of January or earlier, it will figure in all the lists as "first favourite." But supposing the dog were next year to belong to a gambling owner, he would never be a party to its running at any such odds as has been indicated; he would want most likely, for the benefit of himself and friends, to back the animal to win some £20,000, and the longer the odds he could obtain the less risk he would have of losing money; therefore, he looks about him to find some gentleman possessed of a nomination but without a dog good enough to run in such an important stake as the Waterloo Cup. That gentleman's nomination may be quoted in the public betting at 50 or 66 to 1, so that if it can be arranged that he shall run the dog, a large sum of money may be won (in the event of victory) at excellent odds as prices are now arranged.

This sort of thing has occasionally taken place, some of the tactics employed being scandalous enough; but where there is gambling there must in time be scandal. Large sums change hands over this great dog contest, because, in addition to the "long odds" against a dog winning the stake right out, there is an immensity of speculation on every separate course, when the "short odds" are taken against one dog beating the one which goes to slips with it. Probably there will be five or six thousand persons present at the contest busy betting on every course, and in this way, in the course of the three days during which the battle wages, many thousand pounds will certainly change hands.

Prizes are provided for the thirty-two dogs which are beaten in the first round of the Cup; these are the Purse and Plate, on which (locally) a vast amount of betting also takes place. No calculation of the amount of money which changes hands or is betted on the great Altcar contest has ever been made. It has, however, been more than once publicly stated that a Waterloo dog can be, and has been, backed to win a sum of £40,000 for behoof of its owner and his friends and followers, while it is often enough the case that dogs hailing from some populous locality, dogs which have a name, are entrusted with the sovereigns of four or five thousand persons. It would be no exaggeration to say, generally, of the Waterloo Cup that probably a dozen out of the sixty-four dogs nominated will be backed on the average to win (at the long odds) £25,000 each, whilst ten may be entrusted with the odds to win some £10,000, making for these dogs a sum of £400,000, which has been laid at various rates of odds, and it may be taken that the other forty-two dogs will be backed before the contest is over to win £100,000. Only one dog, of course, can win, so that as a rule bookmakers should be largely in pocket, especially when most of the favourites are beaten in the first round—no improbable event; other animals then come into prominence and are heavily backed. A provincial bookmaker, who never betted to more than pound stakes, told the writer that on the first two days of Snowflight's year (1882) he gained a clear profit of £279, and being quite pleased, stopped business and contented himself the last day with looking on at the gambling of others, and so making his visit to Altcar a profitable and pleasant holiday.

Two thousand people, it is averred, will each bet, on the average, £1 over every course which is run at Altcar, which, on the Cup alone, would represent in stakes alone a sum of over £125,000. These figures—they are but rough calculations at their best—may be taken for what they are worth, as affording an index of the gambling which is incidental to the modern "Battle of Waterloo."

Apropos to the name "Waterloo" Cup, it may be mentioned that it is not at all of heroic origin; as a matter of fact, the stake originated in the Waterloo Hotel, at Liverpool, which has long since disappeared, its site being included in the buildings of the central station. This hotel was in its day a hostelry of some degree of fame and a choice resort of the coursing fraternity. In that house, then, in the year 1835 the stake was originated, and run for in the following spring for the first time, eight dogs only taking part in the contest, the winner being Melanie, a dog belonging to Mr. Lynn, the landlord of the house. Such was the origin of the present great Altcar contest. At first an eight dog stake, it speedily became one for sixteen and then for thirty-two greyhounds. In 1857 the Waterloo Cup reached its present dimensions, and has ever since continued a sixty-four dog stake.

III.

Many who desire to become rich with rapidity think the turf a smooth road to fortune. Every few weeks an appetising paragraph "goes the round," telling the world that another fortune has been won on the racecourse, that Mr. So-and-So has "landed" £25,000 by the victory of a horse in one of the popular handicaps! Such an announcement excites the cupidity of hundreds, and so a rush takes place to back many horses for the next important struggle. Very few who try succeed; fortunes, they soon find out, come only to the fortunate, and in time many of the eager fighters for the favour of the blind goddess find themselves hors de combat, and then retire disgusted from the arena. A few doughty combatants fight on in the hope of ultimate success, one of them, perhaps, to find, after many days, that he has become enriched during the struggle.

Some who think themselves wiser than their fellows come early to the conclusion that the indiscriminate backing of horses, or even tipsters, or newspaper selections is a blunder, and so resolve to try a "system," feeling sure that by speculating on a well-defined principle they must make money. In due time the cleverest think out for themselves or are put on a plan by some friend, which is morally certain to prove successful. It may be one of the many systems known in connection with turf speculation, "following the favourites," or backing one's own fancies, or it may be the following of jockeys.

To back the horses ridden by certain jockeys has for years past been one mode of speculation on the turf. It was first brought to the notice of the public by a Mr. John Denman, who acted for a time as a racing commissioner, and who maintained (he published an elaborate essay on the subject) that it would prove profitable to back horses ridden by men who were always winning.

In persistently following Barrett, Watts, Woodburn, Canon, or Loates, or any other jockey, the plan of putting down a given sum on each mount, win or lose, may be adopted, or a particular jockey may be followed in sequences of six or seven trials, or even a lesser number at pleasure, the stake being doubled on each occasion of a loss, till the end of the sequence, and in cases—no uncommon occurrence—of a sequence running out before a win has been secured, beginning again. There are many, some even well versed in turf affairs, who probably think it almost impossible that Loates, Canon, or Barrett or some equally clever horseman, could be unsuccessful for seven consecutive turns; but should the jockey selected prove unsuccessful even four times running, and then at the fifth trial score a win, the very meagre price usually offered against a popular rider proving victorious—indeed, the horse entrusted to him very often starts with odds betted on it—renders the winning account, on most occasions, anything but profitable. It is not sometimes a very easy matter to invest a large sum on a comparatively small race, and in connection with the mounts of the more popular jockeys the investment of £320 would not often cover previous losses; it might happen on occasion that £100 would require to be risked to win £30, so that in the event cited a loss of over £224 would be sustained on the run of six non-successful mounts in the sequence, and it is needless to say that a series of such misfortunes would speedily exhaust a pretty well-filled bank.

To the uninitiated in turf mysteries, for whom this book is more immediately intended, it may be necessary to explain that a "sequence" may be arranged to extend over any number of mounts from two to twelve, or even a greater number if that were practical, which it is not, because in such case the sum to be invested could not be "got on," it would have become so large. The sum fixed upon as a stake may be for any reasonable amount from £1 to £20, only it is not desirable to fix it at a very large amount for the reason just given—it would swell to an unmanageable size. Taking £5 as a representative sum, it will be seen that before the seventh trial, should the six previous efforts have failed, a smart sum of money will have been expended—the following amounts, in fact: £5, £10, £20, £40, £80, £160, or a total of £315. The next stake invested, in the event of none of the six having proved fruitful, would amount to £630, and if that also should be lost, it would, of course, swell the total. On the other hand, £630 invested on a race at 2 to 1, would yield a return of £1,260, and thus, after deducting the money lost, yield a capital profit.

The vicissitudes experienced from time to time by backers of horses would, if related at length, fill a volume. Many anecdotes are in circulation of men who have been ruined by backing horses, as well as of others to whom the turf has proved a stepping-stone to fortune. I remember when there used frequently to be recorded a suicide over the Derby, which was said to be the result of losses sustained over that highly popular race, but such narratives were usually taken cum grano salis. It is not over such races as the Derby that the common run of backers come to grief, because that race does not present such favourable opportunities to speculators as the popular handicaps.

The Derby is a race for which the general public evince much partiality, and on which a large number of persons who never bet on any other race risk a sovereign. Professional bettors, of course, bet on the result of the Derby as they do on all other contests; but the "form" of the horses which take part in the struggle having generally become well known, there is not the same temptation presented to speculators as in some other events where the odds obtained are more liberal. On the other hand, some men prefer to back the favourites for such races as the Derby and Oaks, being contented with the twos to one and sevens to four which can be procured from the bookmaker; but persons who like the twenties, thirty-threes, and forties, which can often be obtained against handicap winners at some period before the race, do not readily accommodate themselves to the large expenditure involved in accepting small odds. I remember a well-known betting man who is a keen hand and speculates in large amounts, taking £2,000 to £1,000 that Bend Or would win the Derby, and every person knows what a very narrow squeak he had for his money. The same person, incited by his success in backing the winner of the Blue Ribbon of the Turf, backed Versigny to win him £2,000, and by doing so required to risk about £1,200, so that he had only £800 of his Derby gains left, a portion of which was lost over Master Kildare in the Gold Cup.

The person here alluded to, who is well known by his nickname of "Public Form,"[4] is a very heavy bettor, putting down at three out of every four of the race meetings which are held stakes of from £50 to £200 on even the smaller races, whenever in fact he thinks he has got hold of what is called "a good thing." In some seasons "Public Form" has been very successful, although from the state of the odds against the horses which he backs he seldom "lands" a big win; but if he thinks the chance an extra good one he will not scruple to give odds, but will put down £700 to win £400, or he will take even money against the chance.

It will be obvious enough that a person betting such large sums runs heavy risks, more especially as he so seldom goes for big odds. Risks, however, are comparative, and it should be easier, therefore, to realise a 7 to 4 chance than to obtain a win when the odds are at the rate of 66 to 1; in the latter case the bettor only requires to risk £15 to win £1,000, while in the former case to win a similar amount a sum of nearly £600 will require to be risked. Some bold spirits on the turf, when they think the opportunity has befallen them, "down the pieces" in the most fearless manner, or rather they go in for big money at the risk of those who will give them credit. On some occasions a lucky coup will be made that may prove to be the precursor of good fortune. A man may bring off a double event or may win a few hundred pounds over a handicap, and so be able to inaugurate a successful career on the turf. On the other hand, a person may bet for a season with all his might, and with fair knowledge and experience, and lose more than another man may pocket. Numerous instances of such being the case might be cited. It is not long since the sporting journals related the downfall of a backer who in one season made a tolerably nice little fortune by backing the mounts of the chief jockey. In a few months the thousands which that person had realised had taken unto themselves wings and flown away, and so he became "broke," like similar speculators.

There are, however, men on the turf at the present moment who are worth money, and who earned what they possess by betting. The persons here alluded to have proceeded on the lines that "small fish are sweet," and have been contented with modest profits, taking care to keep carefully what they gain. "Old Thatchem,"[5] who is the happy possessor of a whole village in a well-known racing county, made all the money with which he bought or built his houses at the race-meetings held in his own shire. His first bit of luck—he was then a day labourer—was in realising a bet of £10 to 10s. on Princess for the Two-year-old Stakes at Doncaster, in 1843. A sum of £10, forty years ago was thought by a labouring man to be "money," and such was the opinion of "old Thatchem." Not a penny of the £10 was parted with till next year, when a sovereign invested on Kedge for the Champagne Stakes doubled the sum, whilst £2 invested on Bee's Wing for the Gold Cup added £16 to the hoard. In three years the old man was worth a cool hundred, which he invested in the purchase of a house. His ambition being stirred, he continued his careful and successful career, and soon became an adept at his business; not that he was always successful; oh, no, many a time he felt the frost of speculation; on such occasions, like a prudent general, he wisely desisted from business for a brief period that his luck might have room, as he was wont to say, to turn itself round.

By way of contrast to this prudent Yorkshireman, take the case of a young fellow who a good many years ago flashed upon the turf like a meteor. Winning £300 when Caractacus won the Derby, he followed up his success at Epsom by bagging a large amount at Ascot, and the like good fortune attending his efforts at Goodwood, at the end of the year he left off with an addition to his bank account of £2,700. Extraordinary to relate, he was equally successful in the following year, but a change of fortune overtook him at last, and from being a swell of the first water, constantly in luck, always feasting on fat things, he gradually fell and fell till, in a few years, he was glad to earn a shilling or two at race meetings by acting as a peripatetic tipster. Many stories of a like kind are doubtless known to persons who are acquainted with the ever-changing incidents of our race meetings.

Apropos to betting for cash, one of the most singular utterances that has ever appeared against the "principle" of betting for ready money is that of Mr. William Day, published in one of the monthly miscellanies, and in which he describes that mode of betting as a "pernicious system," as "the greatest pest of society, the current evil of the day." Further, Mr. Day says the practice of ready money betting is "a blot on the nationality of every Englishman!" Unfortunately for himself, Mr. Day stultifies his own arguments against ready money betting by his advocacy of the Pari-mutuel plan of backing horses, which is a ready money system of betting par excellence, the adoption of which Mr. Day thinks would put a stop to reckless speculation, as, indeed, would ready money betting conducted through the medium of the bookmakers (who ought to be licensed).

The writer of these pages, as is obvious enough, is quite of the same opinion as Mr. Day, that "so long as a man can go into the ring and bet his untold thousands upon race after race, not having as many hundreds to pay his losses with, so long as he can find usurers to supply him with the needful to be paid on the Monday after, then so long, too, will he continue to bet, little caring what he pays for the convenience; as things are he is compelled to raise funds to save his credit and his respect among his aristocratic associates, but in the other case (of Pari-mutuel betting) there would not be such pressing necessity for him to have the money."

A very excellent reason was recently given for the adoption of a ready money system of betting by one of the "big bookmakers" of the day; it was pithily expressed to a gentleman who was complaining of the small odds now laid to bettors. "Look you," said the layer of the odds, "I have thirty-three per cent. of bad debts to contend with every season, and so have some of my friends. When we have ready money betting there will be no bad debts, and the odds will then extend by twenty or thirty per cent." An extension of the odds, say all backers of horses, is certainly much needed; of late years prices have been growing small by degrees and beautifully less.

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