SIXTY YEARS ON THE TURF 



The next day, on reaching the Ring, I looked in 

 vain for Mr. Swindell. He had disappeared, as was 

 his way when he wished to avoid questions. At 

 night I wrote him : " Your horse's weight is 5 st. 

 12 lb. I should advise you to leave him in. Those 

 who have told the Admiral he is a ' rod in pickle ' 

 are sure now to back him, and if he is as bad as 

 you say you can lay him." He returned no answer^ 

 and at Doncaster, after the acceptances were de- 

 clared, I went to speak to him ; but he made a 

 flimsy excuse for hurrying away, and next morning 

 "stepped it" to London. 



Considering the friendly terms we usually were 

 on I thought the treatment, to say the least, 

 was peculiar. Still, I paid no great attention 

 to the matter, for Swindell at times acted in 

 funny fashion. The following week I went to 

 Ayr, and while out for a walk in Glasgow on 

 the Tuesday morning I heard a tap at a fruiterer's 

 window. 



" Hallo, Musgrove," I said. 



" Hallo, Hodgman," he returned, " what are you 

 doing here ? " 



" Oh, I'm up for the races, and was taking a con- 

 stitutional." 



"Very glad to see you. By-the-bye, are you 

 betting on the Cesarewitch ? " 



228 



