CHAPTER XXIII 



yA MONG the elder school of jockeys I had 



/ ^ good friends in Tom Cannon, senior, 



J^ ^ George Fordham, and Johnny Osborne. 



The last named once did me a very kindly 



service. I was riding in a " mixed " race at Liverpool 



over the cup course. It is a very short run from the 



starting-post to the first turn, and there is always a 



scramble to get well placed thereat. On this occasion 



I was jammed on the rails, and in imminent peril of 



going over them, horse and all, when Johnny Osborne 



pulled out, crying, ** Slip up here, sir, quick, or you'll 



be on the floor I '' Of course I acted on the invitation 



with alacrity, and so avoided what might have been a 



very ugly accident. 



Tom Cannon essayed to do me a bit of good, but 

 in quite a different connection. I was walking in the 

 paddock at Sandown, deep in the study of ** Form at a 

 Glance,'* when suddenly " the Backer's Bible " was 

 sent flying out of my hands. I turned round in wrath- 

 ful astonishment and found myself facing Tom. 



" What's up ? " I exclaimed, as I stooped to recover 

 the volume. ** Let it be, squire," said Tom; " if you 



follow that you'll be broke to the world before you're 



262 



