I realized with horror that at this rate the Tortoise would, in fact, win. Fortunately, the slowness of the Tortoise allows me several days before it will actually cross the finish line. With great hope, Sir Euclid. The only thing that has distinguished common dice-slingers from the gentry from time immemorial is not that we gamble, but what we gamble upon. When in ancient times the Picts were huddled around the fire tossing boiled knuckles for scraps of fat, one's own most noble forebearers were busily gambling away the heathens in the benighted lands to which they were spreading the light of civilization.
Commoners bet on coin tosses.
The gentry wagers on which butler can iron a newspaper the fastest. Commoners bet on cock-fights and animal races. The gentry has Ascot. Commoners bet on the daily numbers. The gentry wagers on whether the vicar will manage the turn at the bottom of Applegate Hill with the brakes on his old bicycle fiddled.