A steward had got upon one of the tables, upon which a desk had been put, and was about to sell the chances. Anglo-Indians or South Africans need no explanation of a selling lottery, but to some Englishmen an explanation may be given. After the lotteries have been drawn the chances of the different horses are sold by auction; any ore present is allowed to bid, but in perhaps the generality of cases the owners of horses buy the chances, this being the best way of backing their horses to win a good amount. The highest bidder has to pay the amount of his bid twice over, once to the owner of the ticket that drew the horse, and again he has to pay it into the pool. The latter money, of course, he gets back again, together with the amount collected for the tickets and the prices paid for the other chances if the horse whose chance he bought wins. After the chance of some outsider had been sold for a few pounds the steward, who was acting as auctioneer, shouted out that the next chance to be sold was Marmion. “Gentlemen, Captain Harman’s Marmion, and three hundred and four pounds in the pool.”
The sporting division began to make calculations in their betting-books, and to be all on the alert to learn what those who knew most about it thought of the horse’s chance.
I watched Jack Harman carefully. “Poor beggar, he wants money badly! I hope he will be able to buy Marmion’s chance cheap,” I thought to myself, as I noticed the expression on his face. As I looked away from him I saw Solomon Muzada, the man Jack had told me about; he also was watching Jack, and I believe, from the devilish smile that was playing round his coarse, thick lips, that he too read the expression I saw.
“Captain Harman’s Marmion, three hundred and four pounds in the pool,” the steward cried out, and the bidding began.
Some one bid twenty pounds, some one thirty, thirty-five, forty, fifty, sixty, a hundred; then the bidding steadied, and went up a pound at a time till a hundred and fifty was reached.
“That’s all it will go for,” said a bookmaker near me; “it’s buying money to give more.”
He was wrong though; a hundred and ninety was reached before only two bidders were left—one was Jack Harman, the other was Solomon Muzada.
“Going at one hundred and ninety, three hundred pounds in the pool,” said the steward.
“Ninety-one,” cried out Jack Harman.
“Ninety-two,” snarled out Solomon Muzada.