MORVICH 



There is ben\'een sensitive horses and sensitive 

 men a kinship that transcends the need for 

 language. What one feels is known to the 

 other. It was so with us. 



Presently, then, the motor cars began ar- 

 riving, the stands to fill up. And then we were 

 taken to the paddock. The lesser races were 

 run. Of them I knew nothing, except that 

 horses departed from the paddock, sharp cheers 

 rent the air, the thud of hoofs came back from 

 the track, a gong clanged, and horses returned. 



But at length, after long waiting, the Derby 

 hour struck. It was late, nearing five o'clock. 

 But the air was warm, the sun bright. 



Ah, my friend, how describe to you the 

 feeling that animated me as little Al Johnson, 

 my jockey, rode me to the barrier? Beautiful 

 women filled the club house boxes. The stands 

 were densely packed and ablaze with many 

 colors, for these Kentucky women are not afraid 

 to put on gaiety at a fete. And as we moved 

 along the track, it could be seen there were 



—50— 



