22 SPORTING STORIES 



his teeth being all false, and socketed with his darling 

 metal, as was shown when he indulged in a hideous laugh 

 with his friend Gully over some lucky coup. On settling 

 day 'Old Crocky' sat him down at the seat of custom, 

 with some thousands of Bank of England notes pinned to 

 the table before him, having the heavy figures secured by 

 the thumb, the fifties, twenties, and tens, under his three 

 longer ' prongs,' and a sheaf of fivers under his little finger. 

 ' Old Crocky ' loved to coax the tyro with an offer of a 

 ' thousand pounds ' to some of the youth's pocket-money 

 against his naming the winner of the three great events, 

 viz. Derby, Oaks, and Leger. Many a thousand he picked 

 up in this way, leaving the simple taker of the odds to gloat 

 over the four grand figures on paper, while the astute layer 

 invariably pocketed the ' reality.' " 



Strange to say, the Turf, which was the foundation of 

 " Old Crocky's " fortunes, was also the cause of his death. 

 He retired from the hell-keeping business in 1840, having 

 pretty well cleaned out the fashionable world of its ready 

 money, and then he went in heavily for racing. But the 

 " legs " of the Turf were too many for him, and they fairly 

 killed him over the Ratan business. In the famous Running 

 Rein year " Old Crock " owned one of the finest race-horses 

 ever seen (Ratan), who had won the Criterion Stakes in the 

 previous year with such consummate ease that he was 

 served up a hot favourite for the Derby. From that 

 moment " Crocky " never had a moment's peace. Dark 

 hints and mysterious warnings reached him by every post. 

 The favourite was doomed, he was told, and he had better 

 throw in his fortunes with those who had laid against the 

 horse. But the old man would not swerve from his purpose, 

 and fought stubbornly against the unwearied attempts to 

 break him down. His health gave way under the strain, 

 but he still hoped to circumvent his enemies and land the 

 greatest coup of his life. 



The night before the great race the sentries were doubled 

 outside the stable. Sam Rogers, his jockey, was locked up 

 alone with the horse, sleeping in the adjoining stall. Every 

 conceivable precaution was taken, and there seemed no 

 possibility of foul play. When the key was turned on 



