114 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



out Timsy on to his back ; he came down with a 

 thump which stunned him. 



This and grocer's port were the cHmax. To 

 put it mildly the bedraggled jockey was extremely 

 sea sick. 



We were just running away when the mare's 

 owner, wild with wrath, darted up to the convulsed 

 man. 



"It is the lungs," said a sympathetic but un- 

 moved spectator. *' They are broke with the belt 

 he hit the ground. He will die, I'd say, shortly." 



" Run for a priest," yelled the outraged horse 

 owner. " Oh, but the price of ye, the price of ye. 

 Ye riz her three times before ye came to the fince, 

 an' whin ye did come to it ye didn't rise her at all, 

 an' now ye're throwin' up ye're heart's blood ! " 



Timsy merely groaned. 



We saw him arm-in-arm with the owner drink- 

 ing neat whisky a little later. 



" He is a poor fool of a boy, an' not even rich 

 enough to be worth robbin' him," I heard a racing 

 man sum up a young lordling who had bought a 

 couple of race-horses. 



The sins which are done and the plans which 

 are made in the name of that same racing would 

 fill three books if one knew them. If you can't 

 stop the horse coming up any other way, flourish 

 your whip in his face, and then say you've never 

 seen him, is the favourite axiom of one jockey I 

 know of. 



