H (3uar^ of IF^onour 41 



Jem Mace, Bob Travers, Jem Dillon, and Bill 

 Gillam, who were of what I call " the racing division " 

 — I mean by this the lot who really did know what 

 they were doing, and what horse they were leading 

 back. All at once eight or ten fighting gentlemen 

 came out of Alec Keene's booth, and, collaring hold 

 of my mare's head, took possession of us both. They 

 said, " All right, Edwards, we will knock the teeth out 

 of them," mistaking me and my mount for the French 

 representative. Sure enough, they started to do so, 

 and the more I tried to assure them I was not 

 Edwards, and that they had made a mistake, the 

 more they knocked the people about. Of course 

 the public retaliated, and a more lively five or ten 

 minutes I never saw. No one offered to touch me, 

 and at last I got back to the stand, none the worse, 

 only having been a spectator to as fine a piece of 

 sport and rough and tumble as I could have desired 

 to witness. 



