I am getting an old man, and have been a betting man and bookmaker all my life, so to speak. My parents were poor people, but respectable. I had a National School education. When I was about twelve years of age I was turned out in the world as an errand-boy at 1s. 6d. a week in a general warehouse. I stayed there for a number of years, until at nineteen years of age I was a full-blown warehouseman earning £1 per week! I was a sharp, intelligent young fellow, kept my eyes and ears open, which, I can tell you, I have done all my life (you need to as a bookie, I can tell), and I soon made up my mind that the quid a week in a stuffy warehouse, long hours, hard work, and little prospect of “going ahead,” would not suit me. A lot of my chums used to “horse-race,” “put a bit on,” “get up sweepstakes,” and go to a race meeting now and again. In this way I was first introduced to a race-course, and was successful in winning a bit now and then, but as sure as faith losing it again, and more too. My first impression of a race meeting was a very bad one, for I could see that it was a vast assembly of “wrong uns” to the backbones—thieves, sharps, pickpockets, lowest of the low ruffians and scoundrels—my opinion is but little better of the present race meetings. My brother bookies would endorse my candid opinion, I am sure. The race meetings of the present time, of course, are far superior in comfort and convenience to the old meetings, but the same villainy and cheating is ever rampant; but let us call it now “refined rascality.” Well, I was wide enough awake to soon see that “backing” was no good, but that bookmaker was the “game.” I soon found a way to start with a pal similarly inclined in views. I wasn’t going to stick at a quid a week when I could see ten times that sum easily to be made. At that time bookies were allowed to rig up in any costume they liked, so we had red waistcoats, white plush hats, blue and green parti-coloured coats, etc. etc.