My Racing Adventures 



Prize in 1887. He had previously taken a less 

 important race of the same kind, and just as we 

 were anticipating additional victories for him he 

 — it is an old story — broke down. Pity it was, 

 too, because he was by way of being a real 

 " smasher." Particulars of his trial seemed to 

 have leaked out to some extent — although my 

 father, who trained " Courtier," was always most 

 careful and cautious in that respect — and at his 

 first essay in public the price was rather cramped. 

 He won all right, so what did aught else matter ? 

 The glow of conquest is better than the touch of 

 gold. As a destitute punter remarked, with his 

 head in his chest : " A winner is a winner, even if 

 you have to pawn most of your wife's lingerie to 

 back it with." But such drastic measures are 

 not likely to make home happy, least of all when 

 the weather is arctic. 



Not so long ago, at a cross-country meeting, I 

 saw a jockey pull his horse up about half a mile 

 from home, and when I asked the reason, he said 

 that he had broken a stirrup leather. That set 

 me thinking, as our French friends say, "furi- 

 ously." If any one had offered me a penny or 

 two for my thoughts he might not have been 

 gratified by the magnanimity of my response. I 

 once rode " Ballot Box " with only one stirrup 



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