CHAPTER XIV 



A in my pony-racing days, I now began to 

 look about me for matches which should 

 provide me with a ride now and then as a 

 sort of divertisement or side-show. That 

 dear old gentleman, whom I may call the first Sir John 

 Thursby (to distinguish him from his equally charming 

 and genial son, whose sad and unexpected death in the 

 autumn of 1920 was a great shock to his numberless 

 friends), was puffed up with pardonable pride in the 

 promise shown as a horseman by George, his younger 

 son by a second marriage. Knowing my partiality to 

 a sporting duel on the Turf, he approached me with the 

 suggestion that his young hopeful and myself should 

 have a set-to at the forthcoming Salisbury meeting, 

 since we were each possessed of a gee whose class and 

 form approximated to wit, Foghorn and Trelaske 

 respectively. So it was agreed that the match should 

 be for 100 a side over the straight mile. 



The event was set for decision as the last item on 

 the card. When our numbers were hoisted, Dick 

 Dunn, he of the stentorian voice and lurid language, 

 bellowed out 



" Now, ladies and gentlemen, the entertainment 



166 



