SIXTY YEARS ON THE TURF 



you. And he has two big gold rings, about the size 

 of knuckle-dusters, on. Don't you let him have the 

 first go at you ! " With that I thought it was 

 about time to close the incident, which threatened 

 seriousness. So I jumped on my feet, and, button- 

 ing up my coat, stood strictly on the defensive. In 

 the twinkling of an eye Mr. Hodgson " peeled," 

 rolled up his shirt sleeves, and made a rush. I 

 feinted, dodged, and, seeing an opening, drove tlie 

 left flush on his mouth. Up went his feet and 

 down his head, striking the fender heavily. He 

 bled profusely, but pluckily jumped up, and came 

 pell-mell at me again. I manoeuvred, thinking he 

 would stop, and not desiring to hurt him more. 

 But he was mad with his self-fed passion of hatred, 

 and rushed furiously on to me. I gave him another 

 plug — and that was the finishing stroke. He fell, 

 knocked out, and was conveyed in a cab to his hotel. 

 He was smothered in blood : so was I — but with 

 his, not my "vital fluid." 



I took little — I may say no — notice of the matter 

 for a considerable period, until I received notice of 

 an action against me by Mr. Hodgson for damages 

 for assault — the said damages, I think, being placed 

 at £2000. I went to my friend Mr. Thornhill, 

 the well-known confectioner of Gracechurch Street 

 — who was also an owner of racehoi'ses — and told 



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