148 " MY KINGDOM FOR A HORSE ! " 



Of course we visited Doncaster to see Kingcraft run, 

 and of all the Derby winners I have ever seen, not one 

 was, or is, better-looking than Kingcraft a perfect model 

 of a horse for almost any purpose. He started a hot 

 favourite and right up to the distance he had the race at 

 his mercy, but Hawthornden, a narrower and more wiry 

 sort, was a staunch battler, and Kingcraft, when challenged, 

 showed no liking for a struggle ; so he simply fainted out 

 of the race and allowed the son of Lord Clifden to win. 

 The sight of this annoyed me not a little, for after winning 

 that 20 over Kingcraft's Derby I had been inclined to 

 idealise him. The first race of the afternoon had been far 

 more agreeable, for the Blair Athol colt, Ptarmigan, won 

 it so easily that it was decided to start him in the St 

 Leger also. For well over a mile he set such a cracking 

 pace and gained such a tremendous lead that people 

 shouted ; " They'll never catch him," but Legers are not 

 won in that way, even by an Orme or a Kenny more 

 and, of course, Ptarmigan came back to his horses shortly 

 after passing the rifle butts. Kingcraft was kept in 

 training a good many years afterwards, but he only 

 further and further discredited himself. 



Very shortly after that St Leger week I commenced my 

 life at Oxford, and of those who were freshmen at Balliol 

 with me it seems incongruous that H. H. Asquith, our 

 recent Premier, should have been one, but so it was be- 

 yond all possible question. W. H. Mallock was another 

 of that same term, but for him one always had more of an 

 affinity. Stuart Wortley and Warner had both come with 

 me to the same college, as also did Bailward a year later. 

 Then there was James Hozier (now Lord Newlands), 

 one of the very best, whose proficiency in modern languages 

 gained him a nomination a year or two later to the Foreign 

 Office. 



Another good friend was C. C. Rhys, now dead, but 

 destined to gain fame as "C.C.R.," "The Pote " of 

 The Sporting Times in its best days. Then I come upon 

 the name of Almeric Fitzroy, now of Privy Council repute. 



