The house now began to have something of the organization which prevails in modern clubs.
About 1780, for instance, there was a regular club dinner at White’s, when Parliament was sitting, at 12s. a head. In 1797 the charge for this had fallen to 10s. 6d. Hot suppers were provided at 8s., and lighter refreshments, with malt liquors, at 4s. At that time one of the rules decreed “that Every Member who plays at Chess, Draughts, or Backgammon do pay One Shilling each time of playing by daylight, and half-a-crown each by candlelight.”
George Raggett, who succeeded Martindale as manager of White’s, was quite a character in his way. He understood how to get on with gambling members, and owned the Roxburgh Club in St. James’s Square, where whist was played for high stakes. Here, on one occasion, Hervey Combe, Tippoo Smith, Ward, and Sir John Malcolm sat down on a Monday evening, played through the night, through the following Tuesday and Tuesday night, and finally separated at eleven on Wednesday morning. It is interesting to notice that the separation took place then only because Mr. Combe had to attend a funeral. That gentleman rose a winner of £30,000 from Sir John Malcolm.
Before leaving the club, Combe pulled out of his pocket a handful of counters, amounting to several hundred pounds, over and above the thirty thousand he had won from the Baronet, and gave them to Raggett, saying: “I give them to you for sitting so long with us, and providing us with all we required.” It was the practice of the astute Raggett to attend his patrons personally whenever there was high play going on. “I make it a rule never to allow any of my servants to be present when gentlemen play at my clubs,” said he; “for it is my invariable custom to sweep the carpet after the gambling is over, and I generally find on the floor a few counters, which pays me for my trouble of sitting up.” This practice made his fortune.
As time went on, the club-house of White’s underwent considerable alteration. In 1811, for instance, it was resolved to remove the entrance by converting the second window from the bottom of the house into a door, and to enlarge the morning-room by taking in the old entrance hall. This gave room for an additional window. The old doorway was utilized for this purpose, and the famous “Bow-Window at White’s” was built out over the entrance steps, which may still be seen supporting it.
WHITE’S CLUB PREVIOUS TO 1811.
Directly this window was made, Brummell, then in the heyday of his fashionable prosperity, took possession of it, and, together with his followers, made it a very shrine of fashion and an institution of West End club-life. At that time only a select few dared to sit in it; an ordinary member of the club would as soon have thought of taking his seat on the throne in the House of Lords as of appropriating one of the chairs in the bow-window. Nice questions of etiquette arose in connection with the bow-window, and were duly discussed and settled. Its occupants were so much in evidence to the outside world in St. James’s Street that ladies of their acquaintance could not fail to recognize them in passing. It was decided, after anxious discussion, that no greeting should pass from the bow-window or from any window in the club. As a consequence, the hats of the dandies were doffed to no passers-by.
Not a few of the old school resented monopoly of the famous window by Brummell and Lord Alvanley. “Damn the fellows!” said old Colonel Sebright; “they are upstarts, and fit only for the society of tailors.” Brummell made amusing use of his connection with the club. He was reproached by an angry father whose son had gone astray in the Beau’s company. “Really, I did all I could for the young fellow,” said he; “I once gave him my arm all the way from White’s to Watier’s.” Later, when he was coming to the end of his means and of his career in England, some of his friends who had assisted him with loans became importunate. One of these pressed him for the repayment of £500. “I paid you,” said the Beau. “Paid me! When, pray?” “Why, when I was standing at the window at White’s, and said as you passed, ‘How d’you do!’”
About 1814 Brummell played much and unsuccessfully at White’s. One night—the fifth of a most relentless run of ill-luck—his friend Pemberton Mills heard him exclaim that he had lost every shilling, and only wished someone would bind him never to play again. “I will,” said Mills, and, taking out a ten-pound note, he offered it to Brummell on condition that he should forfeit a thousand if he played at White’s within a month from that evening. The Beau took it, and for a few days discontinued coming to the club; but about a fortnight after, Mills, happening to go in, found him gambling again. Of course the thousand pounds were forfeited; but his friend, instead of claiming them merely went up to him, and, touching him gently on the shoulder, said: “Well, Brummell, you might at least give me back the ten pounds you had the other evening.”