Take a Card
By SIMON RAVEN `LEAD me,' I said to a friend of mine one evening in London, `to an enormous green baize table. Surround me with old ladies who have piggy eyes and claws for fingers. Fetch me a huge pile of counters of rare design. And let the devil himself be there as croupier.'
`Something of the kind can be arranged,' he said, 'though I can't promise you the devil, and the counters are very plain objects prosaically marked with numerals—lest there should be any unhappy misunderstandings. Also, you must bring your cheque book, as even a small pile of them is expensive.'
'A cheque will be accepted?'
`If you are introduced by someone known to the establishment.'
So off we went. When we arrived, about twelve other people were finishing an elaborate fork supper. Some of these were girls, looking appre- hensive and rather bored : most of them were young men, looking far from bored and one of
them at least rather drunk : and there were also two or three more mature-looking men, with soft voices, impeccable .manners and very dark chins. After everyone had had some coffee, we went through to a further room, where there was a large green table marked off for chemin-de-fer. The men all took places at the table, though not with- out a short quarrel between the drunk young man and, surprisingly, one of the dark-chinned men, both of whom had a premonition that Place No. 5 was going to be lucky that evening. The dark-chinned man won. The girls, looking more apprehensive than ever, fingered their liquor glasses and stood resentfully behind their respec- tive husbands or lovers. Here was an end of any attention they could expect for some hours. Our host, who was to act as croupier, started distribut- ing counters; his wife settled at a desk to note down the amount each player received. These amounts varied between £50 and £500.
Play began. All the time it went on we were served with snacks of foie gras and caviar, and liberally helped, though not plied or bullied, with champagne or brandy. The play was high. Some banks started at £10 or £20, more at £50, a few, especially later in the evening, at £100 or £150. A coup at chemin-de-fer takes about a minute to play and administer. Every time the player who happened to hold the bank won his coup, our host and croupier (who, as such, merely organ- ises, and is not to be confused with the banker) took 5 per cent. of these winnings and stacked it away in a separate box. This is the normal prac- tice in all casinos. The chances at `Chemmy' are equally divided between the bank and the table, so that, on average, our host received a percentage after one in every two coups. But some- times the bank would have a long winning run. Thus, if it started at £50 and was fully met (as most were), it would win £50 at the first coup, and our host would take £2 10s. £97 10s. would then be left for the second coup, and this, for con- venience, the banker would probably make up to a round £100. If he won again, he won £100 and our host received a further £5. A long run for the bank, with the increasing sums involved, was there- fore of considerable value to our host, who him- self ran no risk, but of course had expend much energy and charm in organising the game. I should add that there was no danger of the cards being `rigged' by our host or anyOne else; for cards at 'Chemmy' are shuffled, seven packs at a time, in a great mess all over the table, and are then stacked into a box or 'shoe' which is completely sealed. It would need the devil himself, who, despite my hopes, was not present, to tamper with this arrangement.
So the game went on. Some got drunker, others merely poorer. Some of the girls became con- vulsively nervous, others began to whine and had to be sent home in taxis. People left and people arrived to take their places. When anyone left he either paid his losses direct to our host or him- self received his winnings direct. The dark-chinned men showed no signs of ever leaving and never even went out to the lavatory. Our host remained cool, courteous and efficient until four a.m., when the final coup was played and the final gains and losses calculated. As a small winner, I received a cheque directly from our host, and my friend, as a small loser, paid his cheque directly to our host. There was no question but that in this way our host made himself responsible for seeing that all winners were properly paid, while giving himself the trouble of collecting losses and the risk of taking a bad cheque. Equally, however, the accumulated counters in his box represented all the percentages he had taken from winning banks since these counters, though debited to the players at the outset, were now out of circula- tion, our host had to pay out very much less to winners than he received from losers. The differ- ence, if all losing cheques were met, would amount to about £2,000. The refreshments our host had given us were lavish, but they had not cost £2,000.
`Do people ever welsh?' 1 asked my friend as we left.
`Sometimes. Or their cheques bounce. But our host has very good backing. He can always call on enough money to pay winners and his reputa- tion is therefore excellent. Big gambling names sometimes come and play. Greeks. Good money. When they play, the banks can start as high as £500, so that our host makes enough out of his 5 per cents. in one evening to swallow any petty losses by default for the rest of the year.'
As I went home in the dawn, I thought with pleasure of my winnings, and then rather guiltily of Dr. E. Benson Perkins. Dr. Benson Perkins was chairman of the Churches' Committee on Gambling ('1950-53), and his little book,* first published in 1950 but now brought up to date with later statistics and some complaints about the Premium Bond Scheme, has just reappeared. In view of his chairmanship, the author can reason- ably be held to represent what, if we partially except the Roman Catholic Church, are the very strong anti-gambling sentiments of the Christian Churches in this country. It is an honest, sincere and readable book. Having fairly considered the facts of popular day-to-day gambling in British life, it goes on to say that gambling is uneconomic, unproductive and anti-social; that it is encouraged by advertisement and grossly exploited by middle- men; that the money spent on it is out of all proportion to the national income; that it wrecks homes and makes for a selfish and shiftless out- look; and, tout simple, that it is un-Christian.
All of which is quite undeniably true. But, as Dr. Benson Perkins sadly remarks from time to time, everyone is quite incorrigible in this matter —particularly the educated upper classes, whose laxity throughout the ages has been truly appal- ling. People will persist, against all the laws of God and probability alike, in trying to pick up, as it were, a packet of money for a mere song. The Lady Fortune's song. The trouble is that it is such an old and well-loved song : softly sung by the Phoenicians and the Greeks, harshly bawled by the crude Romans, chanted by Byzan- tium and murmured in Peking, skilfully synco- pated these days in Monaco and Cannes, the Siren's song of easy money, with its recurring phrases of nerve-racking excitement, has come unchanged through the ages by so much as a single note.
Dear Dr. Benson Perkins ! You are quite right : gambling, as you say, is begotten between idle- ness and avarice—which is just what plainly guarantees its indestructible charm. Name, if you can, two more persistent human failings than greed and idleness. Well, perhaps there is just one such failing; but then, I suppose, you are also going to put a stop to that?
* GAMBLING IN ENGLISH LIFE. By E. Benson per- kins, MA, LLD. (The Epworth Press, 8s. 6d.)
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