116 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



winning in the end. But what was to be said ? 

 Had she not overpowered her jockey and bolted. 

 She had started at evens. The other at four to 

 one. 



I was at Kilkenny races one very hot summer 

 — '94 — when the regulation took fire. Someone 

 threw a lighted match away and the brushwood 

 broke into a blaze. Six horses scattered in different 

 directions frightened out of their lives. Behind 

 them — it was the second round — toiled an ex- 

 hausted beast without a chance of his race — I 

 don't think anything much mattered to him — 

 and swept through the crackling flames and on to 

 victory. 



" That's the horse to ride to hell on," remarked 

 a farmer beside me. 



By the time they extinguished the flames and 

 brought back the terrified horses that brown 

 horse was a winner all over, plodding wearily 

 homewards alone. I was at the same races the 

 day of the Master Joe Case, when all the book- 

 makers left their stands and declined to bet again 

 for the day. I remember a cousin of mine, who 

 put his fifties on, and put so many that he ruined 

 himself, going out to proffer a sovereign to one of 

 the outside fraternity, beheving he was having 

 the smallest of wagers, and the contemptuous, 

 " Here ! D'ye want me to lay you in bloomin' 

 fortius ? " as the bookie rejected the bet. The 

 outside crowd were financed afterwards by the 



