Racing Stories 



" He waited on jockeys so long," said my 

 indefatigable entertainer, "that he began to 

 fancy that he was a jockey himself, though he 

 could not ride for toffee. At exercise, before 

 the races, he was allowed to mount an ancient 

 'chaser and hang on to him during what was 

 intended to be a steady mile canter. He was 

 not able to hold his horse, who thought he knew 

 his way home across country (he was 150 miles 

 from that haven) by a short-cut or bridle-path : 

 so off he went like a wild cat with a squib under 

 its tail ; and poor Putty has not been seen since. 

 The story goes that he dashed at racing pace 

 into the next parish, jumping several brick 

 buildings in his course of transit, and was then 

 captured by the local inspector of nuisances, 

 who certified that he had been insane since the 

 loss of his last penny. The shock of being a 

 jockey must have turned his brain, and thus 

 completed the work which Nature had begun. 

 Putty now dwells in an asylum, where his chief 

 occupation is to lay the inmates under the odds 

 against ' stumers ' tipped to them by himself." 



Gradually forgetting my bad luck at that 

 beautiful Nice meeting — and sometimes it is as 

 difficult to ride a winner as to kiss a girl whose 

 coyness is acquired, not natural — I realised the 



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