MISSING RACING 



townships and villages, where perforce it was tea, 

 coffee, iced sweetness or nothing. It is a question of 

 local option with a vengeance ; you can die of alco- 

 holic poisoning in some places if necessary, and on the 

 other side of the harbour at Atlantic Highlands, for 

 instance, it is to hell with the sportsman who is faint. 

 Did I go to Coney Island ? Oh yes. The scum off the 

 sea could have been skimmed by a sewage farmer and 

 the air oxygenised with advantage to those who were 

 breathing the atmosphere of hot " dogs " (Frank- 

 furter sausages) and kraut. Such fare for summer, 

 with the thermometer at 95° in the shade — or over. 

 I hope this doesn't sound as being disgruntled with 

 New York ; on the contrary, it was more attractive 

 than London might be in the dog days to the stranger 

 from without. If I were writing this book on America 

 it would be necessary to dissect, and in this express 

 appreciation after appreciation of American life and 

 character. I love the country and have many times 

 since leaving felt the call of it. 



How a day's racing was missed ! In the winter I 

 had gone out on several occasions to see the various 

 race-tracks, and enjoyed the hospitality of one or two 

 of those good fellows connected with the sport who 

 were waiting patiently for the law to be altered. 

 They galloped their horses and took a Mark Tapley 

 view of the future. I had a view of the various lots 

 out at Belmont Park, admired the two-year-olds, with 

 the inevitable idea that they might be destined not to 

 run until they were four-year-olds, all waiting for the 

 " Law " to take its course. Think of it, some of you 

 who complain on a Monday when there is no sport, or 

 become perfectly miserable when a fog or frost sets in 

 during November or December. To get racing par- 

 tially reinstated has been a very big fight, and there is 



319 



