[32] #Sauce-pan#: a vessel for boiling and stewing.

[33] #Verses#: Latin verses.

[34] #Beggars#: here, fellows.

THE DERBY LOTTERY.

The next morning was Sat.u.r.day, the day on which the allowances of one shilling a week were paid, an important event to spendthrift youngsters; and great was the disgust amongst the small fry, to hear that all the allowances had been impounded for the Derby[35] lottery.

That great event in the English year, the Derby, was celebrated at Rugby in those days by many lotteries. It was not an improving custom, I own, gentle reader, and led to making books[36] and betting, and other objectionable results; but when our great Houses of Palaver[37]

think it right to stop the nation's business on that day, and many of the members bet heavily themselves, can you blame us boys for following the example of our betters?--at any rate we did follow it.

First, there was the Great School lottery, where the first prize was six or seven pounds; then each house had one or more separate lotteries. These were all nominally[38] voluntary, no boy being compelled to put in his shilling who didn't choose to do so; but besides Flashman, there were three or four other fast sporting young gentlemen in the School-house, who considered subscription a matter of duty and necessity, and so to make their duty come easy to the small boys, quietly secured the allowances in a lump when given out for distribution, and kept them. It was no use grumbling--so many fewer tartlets and apples were eaten and fives'-b.a.l.l.s bought on that Sat.u.r.day; and after locking-up, when the money would otherwise have been spent, consolation was carried to many a small boy, by the sound of the night-f.a.gs shouting along the pa.s.sages, "Gentlemen sportsmen of the School-house, the lottery's going to be drawn in the Hall." It was pleasant to be called a gentleman sportsman--also to have a chance of drawing a favorite horse.[39]

[35] #Derby#: a famous English horse-race (p.r.o.nounced Darby).

[36] #Books#: an arrangement of bets on a race recorded in a book, and so calculated that the book-maker generally wins something, whatever the result.

[37] #Houses of Palaver#: Parliament never sits on Derby Day.

[38] #Nominally#: in name only.

[39] #Drawing a favorite horse#: the names of the horses running at the Derby were written on folded slips of paper, and those who drew the winning names got the prizes.

The Hall was full of boys, and at the head of one of the long tables stood the sporting interest, with a hat before them in which were the tickets folded up. One of them then began calling out a list of the house; each boy as his name was called drew a ticket from the hat and opened it; and most of the bigger boys, after drawing, left the Hall directly to go back to their studies or the fifth-form room.

The sporting interest had all drawn blanks, and they were sulky accordingly; neither of the favorites had yet been drawn, and it had come down to the upper fourth. So now, as each small boy came up and drew his ticket, it was seized and opened by Flashman, or some others of the standers-by. But no great favorite is drawn until it comes to the Tadpole's turn, and he shuffles up, and draws, and tries to make off, but is caught, and his ticket is opened like the rest.

"Here you are! Wanderer! third favorite," shouts the opener.

"I say, just give me my ticket, please," remonstrates Tadpole.

"Hullo, don't be in a hurry," breaks in Flashman, "what'll you sell Wanderer for now?"

"I don't want to sell," rejoins Tadpole.

"Oh, don't you? Now listen, you young fool--you don't know anything about it; the horse is no use to you. He won't win, but I want him as a hedge.[40] Now I'll give you half-a-crown[41] for him." Tadpole holds out, but between threats and cajoleries[42] at length sells half for one-shilling-and-sixpence, about a fifth of its fair market value; however, he is glad to realize anything, and as he wisely remarks: "Wanderer mayn't win, and the tizzy[43] is safe anyhow."

[40] #Hedge#: here, a guard against loss.

[41] #Half-a-crown#: an English silver coin, two shillings and sixpence, or sixty cents.

[42] #Cajoleries#: coaxing by flatteries.

[43] #Tizzy#: here, the one and sixpence.

TOM DRAWS THE FAVORITE.

East presently comes up, and draws a blank. Soon after comes Tom's turn; his ticket, like the others, is seized and opened. "Here you are then," shouts the opener, holding it up: "Harkaway! By Jove, Flashy, your young friend's in luck."

"Give me the ticket," says Flashman with an oath, leaning across the table with open hand, and his face black with rage.

"Wouldn't you like it?" replies the opener, not a bad fellow at the bottom, and no admirer of Flashman. "Here, Brown, catch hold," and he hands the ticket to Tom, who pockets it; whereupon Flashman makes for the door at once, that Tom and the ticket may not escape, and there keeps watch until the drawing is over, and all the boys are gone, except the sporting set of five or six, who stay to compare books, make bets and so on; Tom, who doesn't choose to move while Flashman is at the door, and East, who stays by his friend, antic.i.p.ating trouble.

The sporting set now gathered around Tom. Public opinion wouldn't allow them actually to rob him of his ticket, but any humbug or intimidation by which he could be driven to sell the whole or part at an under value was lawful.

"Now, young Brown, come, what'll you sell me Harkaway for? I hear he isn't going to start. I'll give you five shillings for him," begins the boy who had opened the ticket. Tom, remembering his good deed, and moreover in his forlorn state wishing to make a friend, is about to accept the offer, when another cries out, "I'll give you seven shillings." Tom hesitated and looked from one to the other.

"No, no!" said Flashman, pushing in, "leave me to deal with him; we'll draw lots for it afterward. Now, sir, you know me--you'll sell Harkaway to us for five shillings, or you'll repent it."

"I won't sell a bit of him," answered Tom shortly.

"You hear that now!" said Flashman, turning to the others. "He's the c.o.xiest[44] young blackguard in the house--I always told you so. We're to have all the trouble and risk of getting up the lotteries for the benefit of such fellows as he."

[44] #c.o.xiest#: most conceited, impudent.

Flashman forgets to explain what risks they ran, but he speaks to willing ears. Gambling makes boys selfish and cruel as well as men.

"That's true--we always draw blanks," cried one. "Now, sir, you shall sell half, at any rate."

"I won't," said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and lumping them all in his mind with his sworn enemy.

ROASTING A f.a.g.

"Very well, then, let's roast him," cried Flashman, and catches hold of Tom by the collar; one or two of the boys hesitate, but the rest join in. East seizes Tom's arm and tries to pull him away, but he is knocked back by one of the boys, and Tom is dragged along struggling.

His shoulders are pushed against the mantle-piece, and he is held by main force before the fire. Poor East, in more pain even than Tom, suddenly thinks of Diggs, and darts off to find him. "Will you sell now for ten shillings?" says one boy who is relenting.

Tom only answers by groans and struggles.

"I say, Flashey, he has had enough," says the same boy, dropping the arm he holds.

"No, no, another turn'll do it," answers Flashman. But poor Tom is done already, turns deadly pale, and his head falls forward on his breast, just as Diggs, in frantic excitement, rushes into the Hall with East at his heels.

"You cowardly brutes!" is all he can say as he catches Tom from them and supports him to the Hall table. "Good G.o.d! he's dying. Here, get some cold water--run for the housekeeper."

Flashman and one or two others slink away; the rest, ashamed and sorry, bend over Tom or run for water, while East darts off for the housekeeper. Water comes, and they throw it on his hands and face, and he begins to come to. "Mother!"--the words came feebly and slowly--"it's very cold to-night." Poor old Diggs is blubbering like a child. "Where am I?" goes on Tom, opening his eyes. "Ah! I remember now," and he shut his eyes again and groaned.

"I say," is whispered, "we can't do any more good, and the housekeeper will be here in a minute," and all but one steal away; he stays with Diggs, silent and sorrowful, and fans Tom's face.

The housekeeper comes in with strong salts, and Tom soon recovers enough to sit up. There is a smell of burning; she examines his clothes, and looks up inquiringly. The boys are silent.

"How did he come so?" No answer.

"There's been some bad work here," she adds, looking very serious, "and I shall speak to the Doctor about it." Still no answer.

"Hadn't we better carry him to the sick-room?" suggests Diggs.

"Oh, I can walk now," says Tom; and, supported by East and the housekeeper, goes to the sick-room. The boy who held his ground is soon amongst the rest, who are all in fear of their lives. "Did he peach?" "Does she know about it?"