My Racing Adventures 



mark again as though sprinting were really his 

 forte, with a precipitous course for choice. 



"At this very fixture," he ran on, meaning 

 Nice, " only two runners went to the post for a 

 race — I don't know or care how long ago — and 

 the betting was close. A cunning ' Sheenie ' 

 punter asked another of the same tribe which 

 of the two runners he was to back. ' Back 

 neither,' was the prompt retort ; ' they are both 

 trying' " 



How could one wager with animation under 

 such desperate conditions ? It would have been 

 like flying with clipped wings in the face of 

 Providence. 



Now fairly getting into his stride, and taking 

 hold of his bit resolutely, my festive host turned 

 to me with a brisk gesture indicative of extreme 

 emotion on his part. Something had tickled his 

 fancy on the spur of the moment. He asked 

 this question : " Do you remember fat Putty, 

 the jockey's valet, who ran into, and out of, a 

 lot of money by backing horses ? " 



"Why, yes, dear boy," I replied dreamily, 

 " I remember him very well. He dressed me 

 once to ride in a selling race, and after I had 

 won it he was not sure which was to be sold — 

 the horse or me." 



196 



