Quite a large army of retainers were attached to every well-regulated gaming-house. The first, and of the greatest importance, was the commissioner, always a proprietor, who looked in at night, the week's account being audited by him and two other proprietors. Then followed the director, who superintended the rooms; the operator, who dealt the cards at faro, or any other game; the croupier, who watched the cards and gathered the money for the bank; a puff, handsomely paid to decoy others to play; a clerk, who acted as a check upon the puff, to see that he embezzled none of the money given him to play with; a squib, who was a puff of meaner rank, and received but a low salary, whilst learning to deal; a flasher, to swear how often the bank had been stripped; a dunner, who went about to recover money lost at play; a waiter, to fill out wine, snuff candles, and attend the gaming-room; an attorney, the sharper the better; a captain, ready to fight any gentleman who might be peevish at losing his money; an usher, to light gentlemen up and downstairs, and give the porter the word; a porter, who was generally a foot soldier; an orderly man, whose duty consisted in walking up and down on the outside of the door to give notice to the porter, and alarm the house at the approach of the constables; a runner, employed to obtain intelligence of the justices' meeting. Beside these, there were link-boys, coachmen, chairmen, drawers, and others, who might bring information of danger, at half a guinea each for every true alarm. Finally, there was a sort of affiliated irregular force, the members of which--affidavitmen, ruffians, and bravoes--were capable of becoming assassins upon occasion. A celebrated sporting resort at the end of the eighteenth century was Mundy's Coffee-House, in Round Court, opposite York Buildings, in the Strand, then kept by Sporting Medley (the owner of Bacchus and some other horses of eminence upon the Turf). Here thousands were nightly transferred over the hazard and card tables by O'Kelly, Stroud, Tetherington, and a long list of adventurous followers. Another famous gaming-house was kept by a certain Joseph Atkinson and his wife at No. 15 under the Piazza, in Covent Garden. Here they daily gave elaborate dinners, cards of invitation being sent to the clerks of merchants, bankers, and brokers in the city. Atkinson used to say that he liked citizens--whom he called "flats"--better than any one else, for when they had dined they played freely, and after they had lost all their money they had credit to borrow more. It was his custom to send any pigeons who had been completely plucked to some of their solvent friends, who could generally be induced to arrange matters in a satisfactory way. The game generally played here was E.O.,[2] a sort of roulette.