GAMBLING AND GAMBLERS.
_The Delusins that Control the Devotees of Policy--What the Mathematical
Chances are Against the Players--Tricks in French Pools--"Bucking the
Tiger"--"Ropers-in"--How Strangers are Victimized_.
"And there were several offered any bet,
Or that he would, or that he would not come;
For most men (till by losing rendered sager),
Will back their own opinions with a wager."
--_Byron's "Beppo."_
Some people are born gamblers, and resemble Jim Smiley, of Mark Twain's
"Jumping Frog." Jim was "always betting on anything that turned up, if
he could get anybody to bet on the other side; and if he couldn't he'd
change sides. Any way that suited the other man would suit _him_--any
way just so's he got a bet, _he_ was satisfied." If there was a
horse-race, we are told, "you'd find him flush or you'd find him busted
at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was
a cat-fight, he'd bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a
fence, he would bet you which one would fly first."
Despite all efforts of repressive legislation, games of chance are in
vogue all over the country. Gambling is practiced everywhere. Tourists
to and from Europe engage in draw-poker and other games of chance, while
they make pools and lay wagers on the distance sailed per day, or the
length of the voyage, and on the number of the pilot-boat that will
first be hailed. Gambling prevails on board those splendid steamers that
ply up and down the great rivers of the country, and more than one
passenger, driven to distraction by his losses at the gaming-table, has
thrown himself overboard. Our legislators occasionally while away the
time in traveling between Albany and New York in a poker-game, and they
frequently meet each other at their lodgings around the capitol for the
same purpose. At picnics in summer, when Nature wears her most enticing
garmenture, groups of young men may be discovered separated from the
merry-making multitude, jammed into some nook with a pack of cards,
cutting, dealing, playing, revoking, scoring and snarling, wholly
engrossed in the game.
No game of chance is more extensively played in New York City than
policy. Many people are disposed to regard policy as the negro's game
exclusively, but this is a great mistake. Policy embraces all classes in
its ranks, and the white devotees of the game outnumber the colored five
to one. Among the patrons of the policy-shops which, despite police
raids and surveillance, still flourish in the district, of which the
Post Office may be considered the focus, may be seen lawyers,
journalists, advertising agents, book-keepers, mechanics,
liquor-dealers, bar-tenders, peddlers, insurance agents, etc. Gamblers,
as a class, are very superstitious, and the white policy-player is
hardly less so than his colored brother. The latter dreams a good deal,
while the former divides his time between trying to guess the lucky
numbers and avoiding evil omens. Bad luck walks arm in arm with him
beneath every ladder, and below every safe that is being hoisted to a
top-floor room. If he forgets anything when he is leaving home in the
morning, and has to turn back, he is ruined for the day. If he washes
with a piece of hard untractable soap, and it darts from his hand and
scoots along the floor, his "luck has dropped" and "slidden" likewise.
If he, by some malign fate, meets a cross-eyed person, especially the
first thing on Monday morning, he is plunged into despair.
It is estimated by an old policy-player that every dollar a man gets out
of the game costs him at least five. To show how slim is the chance of
winning, it is only necessary to explain that many men play the numbers
4, 11, 44 every day regularly, and this well-known "gig" only comes out
about once a year, or say once in every 600 drawings. This is especially
the negro's "gig." He watches for its coming day after day with fond
anticipation. He would rather "ketch dat 'ar gig" for five dollars than
receive a present of ten.
The lotteries now sold surreptitiously in New York are supposed to be
drawn in Kentucky; but years ago numbers were drawn from a wheel on the
steps at the old City Hall in the park. When the State Legislature
annulled the charter of the lottery company and declared the game
illegal, it moved over to New Jersey, where it was drawn as late as
1850.
"It was a standard joke in the old time," said an experienced operator
recently, "to find out what numbers a man had played, and then to
volunteer to stop at the City Hall and take a copy of the numbers drawn.
A false slip was invariably brought back, and when the player examined
it, seeing all the numbers he had bought, he generally dropped his work
and went to collect the winning. When the lottery was driven from New
York, interested persons used to cross over to New Jersey to witness the
drawing, and the numbers were taken from the wheel amid the greatest
noise and excitement. Some numbers were received with derisive hoots and
howls, and others applauded; and all through the drawing certain
favorites would be loudly and continually called for, and if they failed
to appear curses filled the air. After being driven out of New Jersey,
the lottery men found refuge in several other places, notably Delaware,
Maryland, and other Southern States. The principal drawings now take
place at Covington, Ky., opposite Cincinnati. The numbers from 1 to 78
inclusive are put into glass globes and placed in a wheel. This wheel is
turned until the numbers are well mixed, when a trap in the wheel is
opened and a boy, with his eyes tightly bandaged and arm bare, draws
forth one of the globes, which is unscrewed and the number in it called.
From ten to fourteen numbers are thus drawn, according to the size of
the lottery. The drawing is immediately telegraphed on to New York in
cipher, certain words standing for certain numbers. After the drawing is
translated the runners are furnished with a list of the numbers on a
'running slip,' as it is called, which they immediately take to the
various policy shops. No 'hits' are paid on the running slips, as some
of the numbers are invariably wrong. About an hour or so after the
drawings are received in New York, a printed slip is sent to every
office, and then all claims are promptly settled. The managers, being in
an unlawful business in this State, have the opportunity to swindle as
they please. The players have no redress. Ten thousand dollar 'hits'
have been made, according to tradition, and 'hits' of from $500 to
$1,500 are known of sometimes. Three-number lottery tickets are sold on
every drawing, and constitute a very lucrative branch of the business.
Prizes are supposed to range from $30,000 down, and any ticket with one
draw-number on it entitles the holder to the price originally paid for
it. The first three drawn numbers constitute the first prize, and that
ticket nobody ever gets."
The most of the money spent in policy is on "gigs" and "combinations." A
"gig" is composed of three numbers, and they must all come out of the
same lottery to entitle the player to win. Besides "gigs," there are
"saddles," "capitals," "horses," "cross-plays," and "station numbers."
In fact there are almost as many ways of playing policy as there are
numbers in the wheel. As an old gambler explained it:
"You see there are placed in the wheel 78 numbers, from which are drawn
12, 13, 14, or 15, as the case may be. The latter number will not be
drawn but once a week. Suppose 13 to be drawn. The rates--that is, the
sum the player will receive if he wins--are as follows: For day numbers,
5 for 1; for station or first numbers, 60 for l; for saddles, 32 for 1;
for gigs, 200 for 1; for capital saddles, 500 for 1; for horses, 680 for
1; and for station saddles 800 for 1. Cross plays--the numbers to come
in either lottery--may be made at the same rate, subject to a deduction
of 20 per cent. You see that some of these offer a remarkable margin for
profit. The station saddle, with its 800 for 1, seems to offer unequaled
facilities for making a fortune. But since the game was started, no one
has ever been known to hit one. To get a station saddle you must not
only guess two of the thirteen numbers drawn, but you must also guess
the position they will occupy in the slip. The chances of this is so
very remote that the policy-player, sanguine as he generally is, very
seldom attempts it. The next in order is the capital saddle, with its
500 for 1. A capital is two of the first three numbers drawn. Of course
there must be a first, second, and third number, and either two of these
three constitute a capital saddle."
The chances of playing a "capital saddle," "gig" or "horse" in policy
are easily determined by the following formulae, well known to all
students of the advanced branches of Algebra:
The number of combinations that can be formed of _n_ things, taken two
and two together, is
_n_ * [(_n_ - 1)/2]
For _n_ things, taken three and three together, the number is
_n_ * [(_n_ - 1)/2] * [(_n_ - 2)/3]
For _n_ things, taken four and four together, the number is
_n_ * [(_n_ - 1)/2] * [(_n_ - 2)/3] * [(_n_ - 3)/4]
Applying these formulae to policy, it will be seen that to ascertain the
number of "saddles" in any combination you multiply by the next number
under and divide by 2; for "gigs," multiply by the next two numbers
under and divide by 6; while for "horses" you multiply the next three
numbers under and divide by 24. Thus,
78 X [(78 - 1)/2] = 3,003 "saddles."
78 X [(78 - 1)/2] X [(78 - 2)/3] = 76,076 "gigs."
78 X [(78 - 1)/2] X [(78 - 2)/3] X [(78 - 3)/4] = 1,426,425 "horses."
In other words, there are 3,003 "saddles" in 78 numbers, and it follows
that any person playing a capital has two chances in his favor and 3,001
against him.
There is a joke among policy-players that the game is the best in the
world, because so many can play it at once. Different players have
various ways of picking out the numbers they think will come out. Some
go by dreams exclusively, some play chance numbers they run across in
the streets, or signs or express wagons, while others make a study of
the game and play by fixed rules.
As we have already hinted, the business of policy-playing is
insignificant in comparison to what it used to be. Still we are assured
that New York City is still spending a good many thousand dollars a day
in "policy," two-thirds of which professedly, and really more, goes to
the managers and agents. If policy-players would stop awhile and think
seriously of their ways, they would cease playing; or if they would keep
an account of all the money spent on the game for a month or two, they
would discover that they had chosen a wrong road to fortune.
Pool gambling at the various race-courses in the suburbs of New York is
now under stern interdict of the law. This feature is greatly deplored
by those who are in the habit of patronizing this exciting pastime. Of
course the business is carried on _sub rasa_ in the city, in a sort of
sporadic form. No doubt, if we are to reason from analogy, the
pool-fever, emboldened by being "winked at" and tolerated, will, by and
by, assume its noisy, epidemic manifestations.
It is hardly necessary to dwell on the familiar auction pool, with its
close, stifling, dingy room; its crowd of solemn, stupid, wide-awake
gentlemen seated in chairs before a platform, backed with a blackboard,
on which are inscribed the names of the horses expected to start; and
its alert, chattering auctioneer, gay as a sparrow, and equally active,
fishing for bids, with strident voice and reassuring manner. A few
words, however, may be spared to touch lightly on what is designated the
"Mutuel" system, which was invented by M. Joseph Oller, an ingenious
Frenchman, about 1866. Those who had the good fortune to attend Paris in
1867 may remember that M. Oller's indicators were prominent race-course
features during the Great Exposition. They are now familiar to all
frequenters of our American race-courses, and their mode of operation
needs no explanation. The pool-seller's profit is safe as in all big
gambling schemes. He subtracts a commission of five per cent., and thus
makes a handsome profit when business is at all brisk.
The "Paris Mutuel" would appear to be a pretty square arrangement, but,
according to those acquainted with its true inwardness, it has been
"easily manipulated by those in control." There are two ways of
cheating, according to one authority, and "both are practicable during
the last moments of the race, when the horses are coming up the
home-stretch. At this time everybody is anxiously intent upon the
contest and nothing else, so that it is an easy matter for the operator
to see what horse is ahead, and then quietly add five or ten tickets to
his record on the indicator; or, on the other hand, if the horse favored
by the 'ring' is away behind, he can quietly take off some of his
tickets and so save $50 or $100 out of the five. The former, however, is
the easier method and can be with difficulty detected, for very few
people keep transcripts of the French pools, more particularly that
before they are closed everybody is off trying to secure a good place to
see the race."
The prohibition placed upon pool selling naturally renders the
book-maker's occupation to be at a premium. Book-making is reckoned a
"science," and is based upon the principle of the operator betting up to
a certain limit, "play or pay," against every horse entered.
Despite all statements, official or otherwise, to the contrary, there
are a large number of "hells" or gambling houses in New York city, in
which millions of dollars are lost every year by unwary persons. The New
York _Herald_ of June 14, 1886, contains a synopsis of the experiences
of an educated and high-toned young man belonging to a good family, who
had descended from gambling to the practices of a sneak thief. According
to the story he told Inspector Byrnes, he was in love and at the same
time
"became infatuated with the gambling craze. I wanted to make my sweetheart
some presents, and hoped to make enough at the gaming table to purchase
what I wanted. My game was _rouge el noir_--"red and black"--and the
establishments that I visited were on Sixth avenue, between Twenty-eighth
and Twenty-ninth streets, and in Thirty-second street, near Jerry McAuley's
Mission House. Instead of winning I lost. I bucked the game and it
'bucked' me. Then I was penniless and became desperate. By honest
ways I knew it would take a long time to pay my debts, and as I was in
desperate straits I determined to steal. As I did not associate with
professional thieves I had no reason to fear betrayal, so I became a
rogue again."
There is this insuperable difficulty with the born gambler that he is
unteachable. The fool who ruins himself at Homburg or Monte Carlo
belongs to the same type as the young man above, whose identity was
betrayed by a love-letter. Gamblers are always discovering some
infallible system of beating the bank. The first word in La Bruyere's
famous work--"_Tout est dit_" "Everything has been said,"--is true of
gambling against the bank's system, which is to take a positive
advantage which must win in the long run. Not only has everything been
said, but everything has been done to beat the bank. Every move has been
tried, and the result is evident to all but those who are given over to
"a reprobate mind" and will not be convinced. "To gamble against the
bank," said an eminent authority, "whether recklessly or systematically,
is to gamble against a rock."
If the odds are so much against the insane gambler who, secure in an
infallible system, hastens to place his foot on the neck of chance in
what is called a "square" game, how must he inevitably fare in a "skin"
operation. And the stranger who comes within our gates, bent on backing
his methods by a wager, is almost sure to be beguiled into the "skin"
game; for he is likely to meet, lounging around his hotel, some
fashionably dressed young man who spends money freely, and who, by and
by, kindly offers to show him around. He has run across a "roper-in," as
he is well named, whose business it is to track the footsteps of
travelers visiting the metropolis for business or pleasure. It is the
engaging mission of those suave and persuasive gentlemen to worm
themselves into the confidence of strangers, with or without an
infallible system of beating the game, and introduce them to their
employers, the gambling-hell proprietors. And when the poor, misguided
pigeon is plucked, the adroit "roper-in" receives his commission on the
profits realized. This hunting after pecunious strangers is so
systematically carried on that it might be dignified by the name of a
science. Keepers of gambling-houses are necessarily particularly
wide-awake. They take care to be regularly informed of everything
transpiring in the city that may be of interest to their business, and
their agents and emissaries leave nothing to chance. They are not
impetuous. They never hurry up the conclusion of the transaction. When
the unwary stranger is in a fit condition for the sacrifice he is led to
the gaming-table with as much indifference and _sang froid_ as butchers
drive sheep to the shambles.
The reader, among other of Gotham's gambling devices, may have heard of
what is aptly designated "Skin Faro," but it is altogether unlikely that
he may be acquainted with the _modus operandi_ of the game. Skin faro is
not played at a regular establishment in which the player against the
bank is fleeced. The game is liable to drift against the stranger in his
journey to New York, or indeed on any railroad or steamboat, and the
"point" is to get the unsophisticated countryman to be banker. In this
"racket" it is the banker who is to be skinned. According to a recent
authority the ordinary process is something like this:
"After the topic has been adroitly introduced and the party worked up to
the desire to play, it is proposed that the man with the most money
shall act as banker. Now, in an ordinary square game, few would be
unwilling to stand in this position, for though the risk is
considerable, the profit is generally slow but certain. At this point
the question rises as to who has a pack of cards. The question is soon
answered; there always is a pack handy, and the swindlers have it; and
this pack, if examined, will be found to contain a neat round pin-hole
through the center of the pack. The object of this pin-hole is as
follows: the player against the bank makes his boldest play on the turn,
that is, at the end of the game, when there are only three cards out,
tarry; five, nine and all the aces, except spades, can be _guessed_ with
almost uniform certainty by any one looking on the dealer's hand just
before he is about to turn the last two cards (excluding the one left in
_hoc_). As the bank pays four for one 'on the turn,' it is a very good
thing for the player, and the faro banker, for the nonce the would-be
sport, soon finds himself cleaned out."
The people who frequent gambling-houses may be divided into two classes:
occasional gamblers and professional gamblers. Among the first may be
placed those attracted by curiosity, and those strangers already
referred to who are roped in by salaried intermediaries. The second is
composed of men who gamble to retrieve their losses, or those who try to
deceive and lull their grief through the exciting diversions that
pervade these seductive "hells."