Every village or barrio in the Philippines has its cockpit, the most pretentious of these being found in the villages of Caloocán and San Pedro Macati, surrounding the city of Manila. Here, in a large well-ventilated arena, can be found gathered together night after night, not only a motley crowd of peasants from the rice-fields of the interior, but the up-to-date business people of the “Escolta” and the aristocracy of the old walled city, whose gorgeous victorias before sundown roll gracefully along the Luneta, to the music of the Constabulary Band. These mains are conducted under the glare of electricity with the same success as by the light of day. Chinese, who are born gamblers, occupy a large percentage of the space given for seating capacity; these people very methodically run a book in which odds are given on certain birds before they appear to the public gaze. They are quartered together and gamble only among themselves. There is also the house “book-maker,” who takes all bets but places no odds. The small fry, or the Filipinos whose pesos and pesetas are limited, bet among themselves, either man holding the stakes. The pests of the American race-track known as touts and rail-birds are also in evidence here. One of these will approach you asking which is your favorite bird, invariably telling you he has a sure thing and that to bet any other way would be “mucho malo.” You bet on his advice, and he leaves you, meets another easy mark, and tells him to bet just the opposite to the way he advised you. This fellow is a sure winner, as one of the birds must win and his nightly rake-off is a stout roll. The price of admission is una peseta, or ten cents (gold). Near the entrance to the “pit” is a bamboo stand where cigars, cigarettes, and ice-cold bottles of San Miguel’s salvaeso are sold. Flower-girls are everywhere in evidence, with their trays of palm-leaf fans, wreaths, and fragrant nosegays. An old Filipino woman chewing betel-nut and smoking a black cigar struts around selling cocoanut candy, the very appearance of which is enough to spread the cholera. As the time approaches for the main, an old bald-headed veteran of the cocking main enters the screened pit, which is about the size of a “Marquis of Queensberry” prize-ring, and announces the beginning of the evening’s performance; he is loudly cheered by the gamesters of the arena. This is followed by the entrance of the owners with their birds.