I once spent some hours in the house of a bookmaker, and had an opportunity of studying the penciller’s _ménage_. I had often had a bet with Andy Anderson. His prices were a trifle short, but he was an agreeable man to do business with—jovial, good-tempered, and amusing. After a day’s racing at Hurst Park, he overtook “Boris” of the _Referee_ and myself, and suggested a “lift” as far as Surbiton—without consulting us as to whether or not Surbiton was on our way home. “Boris”—who in private life was Mr. Harry Bromhead—accepted the invitation. We were given the back seats on Andy’s jobbed landau and pair, the bookie and his clerk facing us, and his “runner” sitting on the box. The carriage eventually drew up at a detached house standing back from an umbrageous front-garden in one of the most highly respectable avenues in Surbiton. The spick-and-span appearance of the façade of the “desirable family residence” suggested the home of a prosperous stockbroker—a class of sportsman then affecting the neighbourhood. Anderson got out, followed by his guests. The landau bowled off with the clerk and the “runner” aboard, and Andy effusively invited us to enter. We were shown into the drawing-room, where we found Mrs. Anderson—a remarkably fine woman, with much of her husband’s easy good temper—petting a remarkably uninteresting mongrel. Then occurred one of those incidents which illustrated a strange boyish side of Andy’s character. Having formally introduced us to his wife, he gazed at the dog on her lap with an expression of amazement and admiration, and asked, with great seriousness: “Where did you get that dog, my dear?” “Bought him off a man on the tow-path,” replied Mrs. Andy. “What did you give?” he inquired. “Five shillings.” “Good heavens!” exclaimed Andy, “you’ve had a better day on the tow-path than I’ve had on the course. Why, that dog is worth fifty quid. You take great care of him, my dear.” “What breed is he?” asked Mrs. Anderson. “He’s a tripe-hound,” answered Andy, without moving a muscle, and still regarding the wretched animal with the satisfied air of an expert.