MORVICH 



of my first important race, the United States 

 Hotel Stakes, Mr. Block bought out his partner's 

 half interest at a reported price of $35,000. I 

 was a $70,000 horse. I, the cull. What 

 would Runstar say to that? And where was 

 he? Would I meet him at Saratoga? Ah, if 

 I could only find him in a race against me. 



Before that race, the United States Hotel 

 Stakes, began, the odds on me in the betting 

 books opened at 8 to 5 and went to 2 to 1. In 

 this liberal price there was an implied slight 

 on me. At least my owner so considered. He 

 resented it. Never a heavy bettor, he now bet 

 $10,000 on me at 8 to 5. When he heard the 

 price had gone to 2 to 1 he sent his commis- 

 sioners another $10,000, but before it could be 

 placed the price was shortened. 



"Bet the money at whatever price you can 

 get," ordered Mr. Block. "I'll teach 'em to 

 recognize a good horse when they see him." 



I ran that race, worth close to $10,000, 

 with a similar resolve in my heart. I, too, 



—31— 



