" It was
pleasant to be called a gentleman sportsman, also to have a chance of
drawing a favourite horse.
The hall was full of boys, and at the head of one of the long tables
stood the sporting interest, with a hat before them, in which were the
tickets folded up. One of them then began calling out the list of the
house. Each boy as his name was called drew a ticket from the hat, and
opened it; and most of the bigger boys, after drawing, left the hall
directly to go back to their studies or the fifth-form room. The
sporting interest had all drawn blanks, and they were sulky accordingly;
neither of the favourites had yet been drawn, and it had come down to
the upper-fourth. So now, as each small boy came up and drew his ticket,
it was seized and opened by Flashman, or some other of the standers-by.
But no great favourite is drawn until it comes to the Tadpole's turn,
and he shuffles up and draws, and tries to make off, but is caught, and
his ticket is opened like the rest.
"Here you are! Wanderer--the third favourite!" shouts the opener.
"I say, just give me my ticket, please," remonstrates Tadpole.
"Hullo! don't be in a hurry," breaks in Flashman; "what'll you sell
Wanderer for now?"
"I don't want to sell," rejoins Tadpole.
"Oh, don't you! Now listen, you young fool: you don't know anything
about it; the horse is no use to you.
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