But
what good ever came out of, or went into, a betting-book? If I could
be Caliph Omar for a week, I would pitch every one of those despicable
manuscripts into the flames; from my Lord's, who is 'in' with Jack
Snaffle's stable, and is over-reaching worse-informed rogues and
swindling greenhorns, down to Sam's, the butcher-boy's, who books
eighteenpenny odds in the tap-room, and 'stands to win five-and-twenty
bob.'
In a turf transaction, either Spavin or Cockspur would try to get the
better of his father, and, to gain a point in the odds, victimise his
best friends. One day we shall hear of one or other levanting; an
event at which, not being sporting men, we shall not break our hearts.
See--Mr. Spavin is settling his toilette previous to departure; giving a
curl in the glass to his side-wisps of hair. Look at him! It is only
at the hulks, or among turf-men, that you ever see a face so mean, so
knowing, and so gloomy.
A much more humane being among the youthful Clubbists is the
Lady-killing Snob. I saw Wiggle just now in the dressing-room, talking
to Waggle, his inseparable.
WAGGLE.--'Pon my honour, Wiggle, she did.'
WIGGLE.--'Well, Waggle, as you say--I own I think she DID look at me
rather kindly. We'll see to-night at the French play.'
And having arrayed their little persons, these two harmless young bucks
go upstairs to dinner.
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