1 6 IRiMno IRecoUections an& Uxxvt Stories 



large worsted cord breeches, black jack-boots, a 

 racing-jacket cut very low in front, like a dress 

 waistcoat, and, to finish up with, had a cigar in his 

 mouth. Tom McGeorge started the two horses, 

 and Mr. Ten Broeck, puffing away at his weed, and 

 sitting quite back in his saddle, looked more like 

 riding in the Park or hacking about at Newmarket 

 than racing. When the flag dropped he was at least 

 six or eight lengths behind in a five-furlong match. 

 Needless to say he was beaten, but not so very far, 

 as he came with a tremendous rush when the race 

 was all over : as Mr. George Payne, who had done 

 Mr. Ten Broeck's commission, said, if he '' had not 

 put him ^800 on, he should have sworn he had 

 pulled the horse." 



When Mr. Payne met him coming back to the 

 weighing-room, he asked him what had happened. 

 Mr. Ten Broeck answered : 



" Well, I guess he had the foot of me all the 

 way." 



Mr. Payne laughed heartily, although he had lost 

 ^500 himself, and said : 



"Well, my advice is. Ten Broeck, never ride 

 again. I never saw such a mess in my life as you 

 made of it." 



However, no one could ever make Mr. Broeck 



