Light Come, Light Go: Gambling—Gamesters—Wagers—The Turf

by Ralph Nevill

The rules of the Casino naturally forbid any proceeding of such a kind in the rooms, and whenever the ham was produced the chef de partie was obliged to point this out. The old lady in question, who was a well-known character, was, however, very rich, and, being a constant and high player, any drastic action would naturally have been disadvantageous to the best interests of the bank. Some compromise was, therefore, eventually arranged, by which the amount of ham consumed was so infinitesimal as to pass almost unnoticed by the general public.

Certain players attach considerable importance to the numbers inscribed upon the check handed to them by the attendants who look after cloaks and sticks. Now and then, as must of necessity happen in the ordinary course of events, an individual succeeds in winning a good stake by backing a number at roulette corresponding with that on his wooden ticket; more often, however, he fails, and then proceeds to work out all sorts of combinations of numbers, adding, subtracting and dividing, as the fancy seizes him.

The number of the sleeping-berth which has carried the visitor from Paris is also often chosen, as is that of his bedroom in the hotel. The date of a birthday, the sum total of the numbers on a watch, or of the figures on a coin, the number of cigarettes left in a case, or of coins in the pocket, and other similar trifles are all noted with intense interest by a certain class of player, eager for any clue which they believe may assist them in their struggle to achieve success.

It used, at one time, to be said at Monte Carlo that the clergyman of the English Church there never gave out any hymns under number thirty-six, as he had discovered that some of his congregation had made a practice of carefully noting down the numbers with a view to backing them at roulette. Most players, even the least superstitious, have some special lucky number of their own, which they make a point of following. Occasionally it turns up two or three times in succession, which, of course, further confirms them in constantly backing it, and, more often than not, losing far more than they have won.

The present writer's experiences in this direction have not been of an encouraging nature.

Some years ago, being on his way to the Principality, he was much struck by the curiously persistent way in which the number 13 confronted him throughout the journey. His room at Paris was 13; the number of his sleeping-berth in the train to Monaco was 13; and finally he was put into room No. 13 at the Hôtel de Paris on the day of his arrival, the 13th day of the month. All this, to any one with a vestige of superstition, looked as if 13 was a number well worth backing, and accordingly the writer hastened to the rooms, eager to see whether the tip would come off. As a matter of fact the only thing which did come off was the end of his finger, which in his haste to get to the Casino he slammed in his bedroom door. After having been attended to by a surgeon he finally obtained a place at roulette and steadily backed number 13, which, to his intense disgust, appeared rather less frequently than the other numbers. The same unsatisfactory state of affairs prevailed throughout his stay, which on that occasion was a prolonged and unpleasant one.

The curious influence which the advent of certain persons, or the occurrence of trivial incidents, appears to exert in matters of luck is well known to all gamblers. Many of them generally regard a number of trifles with feelings of considerable apprehension at the gaming-table, entertaining the most extraordinary likes and dislikes for various people and things, and cherishing queer fancies at which, in ordinary life, they would be the first to scoff. All this, of course, is akin to the superstition of the savage, a queer atavistic reminder of civilised man's humble descent.

Though the principles of roulette and trente-et-quarante are known to many, it may not be out of place to give brief descriptions of these games as played at Monte Carlo.

Before play begins the money is set out at one end of the table. The gold, after being weighed in scales, is placed in rouleaux, and the bank notes ranged according to their value. Everything is verified by an inspector, who taps each row with a rake and signs his name to a statement on paper.