TOM BROWN'S
all nominally voluntary, no boy being compelled to put in his shilling who didn't choose to do so; but besides Flashman, there were three or four other fast sporting young gentlemen in the School-house, who considered subscription a matter of duty and necessity, and so, to make their duty come easy to the small boys, quietly secured the allowances in a lump when given out for distribution, and kept them. It was no use grumbling—so many fewer tartlets and apples were eaten and fives'-balls bought on that Saturday; and after locking-up, when the money would otherwise have been spent, consolation was carried to many a small boy, by the sound of the night-fags shouting along the passages, "Gentlemen sportsmen of the School-house, the lottery's going to be drawn in the hall." It was pleasant to be called a gentleman sportsman—also to have a chance of drawing a favorite 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 favorites 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 favorite 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 favorite!" 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?"
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