... mud. There was a matther av two thousand coolies on that line—you remimber that. Prisintly a bell rang, an' they throops off to a big pay-shed. 'Where's the white man in charge?' sez I to my kyart-dhriver. 'In the shed,' sez he, 'engaged on a riffle,'—'A fwhat?' sez I. 'Riffle,' sez he, 'You take ticket. He take money. You get nothin'.—'Oho!' sez I, 'that's fwhat the shuperior an' cultivated man calls a raffle, me misbeguided child av darkness ... — Indian Tales • Rudyard Kipling
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