The word of warning I gave him was received with
a shrug of the shoulder, and he walked off with the greatest unconcern.

THIMBLE-RIG.

All races, fairs, and other such conglomerations of those whom Heaven
had blessed with more money than wit, used to be frequented by minor
members of 'The Fancy,' who are technically called flat-catchers, and
who picked up a very pretty living by a quick hand, a rattling tongue, a
deal board, three thimbles, and a pepper-corn. The game they played with
these three curious articles is a sort of Lilliputian game at cups and
balls; and the beauty of it lies in dexterously seeming to place the
pepper-corn under one particular thimble, getting a green to bet that it
was there, and then winning his money by showing that it is not. Every
operator at this game was attended by certain of his friends called
eggers and bonnetters--the eggers to 'egg' on the green ones to bet,
by betting themselves; and the bonnetters to 'bonnet' any green one who
might happen to win--that is to say, to knock his hat over his eyes,
whilst the operator and the others bolted with the stakes.

Some years ago a curious case was tried, exemplifying the mode of
procedure. A Frenchman, M. Panchaud, was at Ascot Races, and he there
saw the defendant and several other 'gentlemen' betting away,
and apparently winning 'lots of sovereigns,' at one of these same
thimble-rigs. 'Try your luck, gentlemen,' cried the operator; 'I'll bet
any gentleman anything, from half-a-crown to five sovereigns, that
he doesn't name the thimble as covers the corn!' M. Panchaud betted
half-a-crown--won it; betted a sovereign--won it; betted a second
sovereign--LOST it. 'Try your luck, gentlemen!' cried the operator
again, shifting his thimbles and pepper-corn about the board, here and
there and everywhere in a moment; and this done, he offered M. Panchaud
a bet of five sovereigns that he could not 'name the thimble what
covered the corn.' 'Bet him! Bet him! Why don't you bet him?' said
the defendant (a landlord), nudging M. Panchaud on the elbow; and M.
Panchaud, convinced in his 'own breast' that he knew the right thimble,
said--'I shall betta you five sovereign if you will not touch de timbles
again till I name.' 'Done!' cried the operator; and M. Panchaud was
DONE--for, laying down his L10 note, it was caught up by SOMEBODY, the
board was upset, the operator and his friends vanished 'like a flash of
lightning,' and M. Panchaud was left full