'I don't see how they can do nothing to you if yer makes that yer principle and sticks to it,' said old John; and he put on the huge-rimmed, greasy hat, three sizes too large for him. 'A pathetic old story,' William said to himself. 'But I daresay he's right'; and for several months William refused over and over again to make bets with comparative strangers, but the day came when his principle relaxed, and he took the money of a man who he thought was all right. It was done on the impulse of the moment, but the two half-crowns wrapped up in paper, with the name of the horse written on the paper, had hardly gone into the drawer than he felt that he had done wrong. He couldn't tell why, but the feeling came across him that he had done wrong in taking the man's money--a tall, clean-shaven man dressed in broadcloth. It was too late to draw back. The man had finished his beer and had left the bar, which in itself was suspicious.
Three days afterwards, between twelve and one, just the busiest time, when the bar was full of people, there came a cry of 'Police!' An effort was made to hide the betting plant; a rush was made for the doors. It was all too late; the sergeant and a constable ordered that no one was to leave the house; other police were outside. The names and addresses of all present were taken down; search was made, and the packets of money and the betting books were discovered. Then they all had to go to Marlborough Street.
NEXT day the following account was given in most of the daily papers: 'Raid on a betting man in the West End. William Latch, 35, landlord of the "King's Head," Dean Street, Soho, was charged that he, being a licensed person, did keep and use his public-house for the purpose of betting with persons resorting thereto. Thomas William, 35, billiard