My Racing Adventures 



He was as brilliant a jumper as a man need wish 

 to sit on. We always had to lead him to the 

 post, since that was our only chance of subduing 

 his idiotic temperament. I was successful in 

 winning two or three nice steeplechases on him, 

 but the last time I rode him at Kempton, a 

 disaster occurred which decided his fate. He 

 was favourite on that occasion ; I cleared the 

 last fence in front, and then " Brookwood " took 

 command. Instead of his going on to the hurdle 

 racecourse, he went straight to the brook, thus, 

 of course, extinguishing our chance, and I had 

 a lively reception from a tempestuous section of 

 the audience. They seemed to think that my 

 erratic steering was not involuntary. Mud and 

 stones were thrown at me, evil language was 

 used, and, ah me! my proud spirit was vastly 

 lacerated. I had done nothing wrong. The 

 villain was " Brookwood," so I sold him at once 

 to go abroad, fearing that if he did not kill me 

 in one way he would assuredly ruin me in 

 another. " He is dangerous all round," I re- 

 marked to his owner, " and it would be a pity 

 not to give the foreigners an opportunity to 

 wrestle with him, for death- grips are probably 

 more in their line." To be pelted by the punters 

 after doing one's best for them — how nauseating 



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