some brother bookmaker, or to some "turf
swell," and backs the horse to the amount of
a thousand pounds; thus so arranging his
book, that what he will lose to the public if
the horse win, he will win from others if the
horse loses. This is called "hedging," or squaring
the account in the bookmaker's betting-book.
The transaction is perfectly lawful. The public
want to bet in favour of the horse, but there
are other betting-men whose book it will
suit to bet against it. The bookmaker
accommodates both parties, and transacts his own
business in the way most profitable to himself.

Like all other men, the members of the new
calling are liable to make mistakes. It not
unfrequenlly happens that they "stand to
win" too heavily upon one or two horses, so
that, to use their own expression, "the pot
boils over." At last year's Derby, many of the
bookmakers were sold when Hermit won. This
season the dead heat run at Newmarket by
Formosa and Moslem was most unexpected.
Formosa was the favourite, and the new calling
looked upon the race as won before it was run.
Just before the horses started the betting was
seven to two against Formosa, and a hundred
to eight, or twelve-and-a-half to one against
Moslem; and yet the two ran a dead heat,
consequently the stakes and bets had to be divided.

There are two rules which no respectable
bookmaker ever breaks. The first is, never
to risk a single shilling over and above what
he can pay down in hard cash twenty-four
hours after the race; the second is, never to
stand too much upon any one horse without
hedging his money.

It will hardly be believed what perfect
confidence betting-men among the general public
—and in these days, particularly among what
may be termed the lower middle classes, to
bet is the rule, and not to bet the exception—
will repose in bookmakers whom they know.
It is an every-day occurrence for a small
tradesman to put "a fiver" or a "tenner"
into the hands of a bookmaker on the eve of
a great race, and to beg the bookmaker to lay it
out for him to the best advantage; not even
telling him what horses to back. The
bookmaker generally returns the money with a fair
profit next day; deducting his own commission
of a shilling in the pound.

The "welcher" bears towards the respectable
bookmaker much the same relative position
that the keepers of silver hells in former
days used to hold towards those who ruled
at Crockford's and the great gaming houses.
The "welcher," properly so called, takes the
money offered him to back a horse; but when he
has taken money enough from his dupes, departs
from the scene of his labours, and trusts to his
luck, a dyed wig, or a pair of false whiskers, not
to be recognised. His plan of operations
generally is to begin as a betting agent, or
bookmaker as he calls himself, in the West-end of
London. There he gets round him a knot of
clients, whom he meets in some public-house, the
master of which encourages him; for his
presence attracts several other persons to meet him
on business, and business is thirsty work. When
established in this way, he generally makes
gentlemen's servants and small tradesmen his
victims. For a time, perhaps, he works "on the
square," not being trusted with enough to make
it worth his while to be dishonest. He begins
with taking shilling and halfcrown bets, rarely
going as high as a sovereign on any horse. His
chief game is to get his clients to bet on
what are called double events, which, though
tempting in the odds they offer, are almost a
certainty in favour of those who bet against
them, which bookmakers, whether honest men
or "welchers," invariably do.

A "double event" bet is to back two named
horses to win two named races. As the odds
against this are necessarily high, the temptation
to the outside public is proportionably great.
The way to calculate a double event bet is to
multiply the odds against the one horse by
the odds against the other. Thus, let us
suppose that the betting against Blue Gown
winning the Derby is ten to one, and the odds
against Lady Elizabeth winning the Oaks are
twelve to one. Ten times twelve make a
hundred and twenty; therefore the odds against
the two horses winning the double event are
a hundred and twenty to one. Let us suppose
that the first event comes off right, and that
Blue Gown does win the Derby; it follows as
a matter of course that the whole bet then
depends upon Lady Elizabeth's winning the Oaks;
and thus the total amount of the odds, a
hundred and twenty to one, is laid against her. If
the bookmaker believed there was any chance
whatever of the second event turning against
him, he would either hedge his money—which,
of course, he has every possible facility of
doing—or he would buy the bet from the
backer for a comparatively small sum.

From the West-end of London a "welcher"
bookmaker generally goes to the far east; and,
among the low public-houses of Whitechapel or
the Commercial-road, manages to prove to the
off-scourings of the Jewish population that there
are even keener wits in matters financial than
themselves. Another dodge of these rascals is
to adopt the names of some well-known and
respectable bookmaker, and, by inserting
advertisements in the sporting papers, induce
backers of the pigeon kind to send their golden
eggs to the nests of the hawks. Of course this
little game does not last long.

There was a time when "welchers" and such
like unmitigated rascals were only to be found
in London; but now, thanks to railways and
cheap trains, they are to be found in almost
every large town in England. Manchester is
full of welchers; Liverpool numbers its welchers
by the hundred; similarly, there are any
number of these ruffians in Leeds, or Birmingham,
or Bristol. Nay, in even much smaller towns,
such as Cheltenham, Leamington, and Bath.
The nature of their frauds, and the intense
rascality of their calling, oblige them to be
rolling stones. When the metropolis is too