money would otherwise have
been spent, consolation was carried to many a small boy, by the sound
of the night-fags shouting along the passages, "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 (pronounced 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