BREEDING THE TROTTER 



behind an attractive-looking pacer hitched to a 

 top buggy. We were invited to a seat behind the 

 pacer and in response to our inquiry, ' What's 

 this you are driving?' the driver smiled and said, 

 ' You are now riding behind Hal Pointer.' Con- 

 fess, yes ; we can but be true. Our first impulse 

 was to tip our hat and then get out and walk. 

 Shades of the great ones! Had we not read and 

 re-read the Hal Pointer-Direct duels? Had 

 not our heart beat fast as the dailies told of his 

 demonstrating to the world that a horse could 

 pace in less than 2.05? Had we not said, ' I wish 

 I could see him ' ? And behold, we were actually 

 riding behind him. And notwithstanding Mr. 

 Bradburn's most cordial welcome and the fact 

 that we had had nothing warm to eat for four days, 

 we actually stood on the office porch until the old 

 hero had entered the barn. . . . Like the Queen 

 of Sheba, who had heard the glories of Solomon, 

 we, too, had heard of the greatness of Village 

 Farm, but we confess in the language of the 

 ancient queen, ' The half had not been told.' . . . 

 However, as we are writing about the passing of 

 things, we pause to note that it was here The 

 Abbot struggled to get command of himself and, 

 after succeeding, flew to the top and carried the 

 world's record a coveted crown to the camp of 

 his owner. But where is he? Gone! Passed for- 

 ever! From this spot, a few days ago, we looked 

 away to the hillside where rest the bones of old 

 Hal Pointer. How are the mighty fallen, and now 

 the entire plant is to become a thing of the past." 



48 



