Volume 159 — THE ROMANCE OF BOOKMAKING.

A Visit to Messrs. Pryce Unltd.

(With acknowledgments in the right quarter.)

A gigantic commissionaire flings wide the doors for us and, passing reverently inside, we are confronted by the magnificent equestrian statue of Mr. Bookham Pryce, the founder of the firm. This masterpiece of the Post-Cubist School was originally entitled, "Niobe Weeping for her Children," but the gifted artist, in recognition of Mr. Pryce's princely offer of one thousand guineas for the group, waived his right to the title.

On the left we see the Foreign Department. Here we watch with rapt attention the arrival of countless business telegrams from all parts of the world. We choose one or two at random and see for ourselves the ramifications of Pryce's far-flung booking service. This one from China: "Puttee fifty taels Boko Lanchester Cup;" another from distant Siberia, emerging from the primeval forests of that wondrous land of the future: "Tenbobski Quitter Ebury Handicap." Bets are accepted in all denominations from Victory Bonds to the cowrie-shells of West Africa.

Passing up the marble staircase and leaving the Home Department on our right we arrive at the Stumer Section. Here a small army of ex-Scotland Yard detectives are engaged in dealing with malâ-fide commissions—attempts on the part of men of straw to make credit bets, or telegrams despatched after a race is over.

Where shall we go next? We ask a courteous shopwalker, who in flawless English advises us to try the Winter Gardens, where a delightful tea is served at a minimum cost. Here, whilst sipping a fragrant cup of Orange Pekoe, we can watch the large screen, on which the results of all races are flashed within ten seconds of the horses passing the winning-post. At one time, in fact, it was nothing unusual for Pryce's to have the results posted before the horses had completed the course, but in deference to the prejudices of certain purists this practice was abandoned.

Follows a hurried visit to the Library and Museum, where we gaze enthralled at the original pair of pigeon-blue trousers with which Mr. Bookham Pryce made his sensational début on the Lincoln course in the spring of 1894. We might linger here a moment to muse over the simple beginnings of great men, but time is pressing and we are all agog to visit the Bargain Basement.

An express lift flashes us downwards in a few seconds and behold we are in the midst of rows of counters groaning under bargains that even the New Poor can scarce forbear to grasp.

Here, for example, is one-hundred-to-eight offered against Pincushion for the Gimcrack Stakes. This wondrous animal's lineage and previous performances are carefully tabulated on a card at the side, and, remembering the form he showed at Gatwick, one wonders, as the man in the street would say, how it is done.

Or look at Tom-tom, which left the others simply standing in a field of forty-four at Kempton Park, and carrying eight-stone-seven. Here he has a paltry four-pound penalty for the Worcester Welter Handicap, yet one can have seven to one about him.

How the House of Pryce can offer such bargains is a mystery to the old school of red-necked bookmakers, whose Oxford accent was not pronounced. They fail to see what courtesy, urbanity and meat-teas at three shillings per head can do in the way of stimulating business.

From the Bargain Basement we wander at will through the remaining departments, making inquiries here and there from the expert assistants, technically known as laymen, without being once importuned to make a bet.

And when at length, refreshed and pleased with a delightful afternoon, we pass again through the portals of the House of Pryce, we make for home, confirmed supporters of the modern personal touch, which has transformed a drab business into a veritable romance.

Our Optimistic Advertisers.

"Will Person who took Gent.'s Trenchcoat by mistake whilst motor-cycle was on fire in —— Rd., on Wednesday night, please return same."—Provincial Paper.

"Alec Herd, who went round in 72, and who is one of the old school, was second in the Open Championship no fewer than 28 years ago, and won it as far back as 19042."—Provincial Paper.

B.C., of course.

"Yesterday was St. Stephen's Day, and, therefore, the patronal festival of the Abbey Church. Hence the choice of the date for the issue of the appeal, though probably not one Englishman in a thousand connects the Abbey with any particular saint."—Daily Paper.

Well, certainly not this one, though we have heard St. Peter alluded to in this connection.

"The Henley Regatta.

A remarkable feature of the meeting is the number of ladies rowing, the ten heats for eight-oared boats in the Ladies' Challenge Cup being decided to-day."—Provincial Paper.

Lest the male element should be entirely forgotten, would it not be well to call it in future "The Cock-and-henley regatta"?