SIXTY YEARS ON THE TURF 



of not preceding the unfortunate Cook. In truth, 

 he entirely owed his salvation to the success of a 

 mare named Doubt in the Wolverhampton Handicap 

 of 1853 — then a rare betting race, both before and 

 on the day. It was, in fact, as big a financial 

 concern as some of the chief handicaps are now. 

 Ordinarily I attended Wolverhampton, where for a 

 number of years I had a couple of bedrooms and a 

 sitting room at the "Swan" Hotel. Through some 

 business in town I was unable to attend the races in 

 1853, and, hearing of this, Mr. Swindell asked me if 

 I would let him have my lodgings. 



" Yes," I said ; " but whom are you going with ? " 



" Palmer." 



"All right, Fred, but take my advice and be 

 careful of your pal." 



" Thanks. I shall be all right. By-the-bye, he 

 says he has a good thing in Doubt for the handicap. 

 I've put him 500 on at 7's ; and I've got 250 on 

 myself. You had better have a ' pony,' lad." 



" Certainly," and we parted — and I honestly 

 believe that would have been a final farewell if 

 Doubt had failed to win. That Swindell was 

 doctored for death in case of the mare's defeat 

 cannot indeed, in view of all the circumstances, 

 be questioned. Palmer, as has been mentioned by 

 others, had a peculiar way of drinking his brandy 



75 



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