42 THE ENGLISH TURF 



what condition many of the horses are in. Of course the 

 habitue I have been referring to is the man with an eye 

 for a horse the man who, having seen a horse in the Bird- 

 cage at Newmarket, can pick it out again in a South-country 

 paddock a month afterwards, and who really enjoys racing 

 because of his innate love of the thoroughbred. There are 

 many such, thank goodness ; and though the paddock 

 humbug, who pretends to know the horses but really does 

 not, is always abroad, he can only impose on those who 

 are more ignorant than himself. By the way, what a good 

 thing for these gentry the numbering of horses in the 

 paddock must be. 



Needless to say, there are many racing men who never 

 can acquire sufficient knowledge of horses to identify them 

 a second time, for speedy recognition of a horse that has 

 been seen before is almost a gift. I remember walking 

 in the Doncaster paddock with an old gentleman who had 

 a forty years' acquaintance with the turf, and not a very 

 superficial acquaintance either. The St. Leger favourite 

 came round, preceded by a stable companion, who wore 

 similar clothing, but was a smallish chestnut, whilst the 

 favourite was a strapping bay. Three or four times they 

 passed us, and my friend raved about the favourite, " Such 

 a walker he was, such quarters and thighs, and what condition 

 his water mark showed." After a while he turned to speak 

 to a friend (this was when the favourite and his stable com- 

 panion were on the far side of the paddock), and just at 

 that moment the favourite was taken to the boxes to be 

 saddled. About the same time more horses had joined the 

 paddock circle, and as the chestnut appeared again, with 

 something else in front, my friend proceeded to point out 

 the St. Leger favourite to his friend, who was waiting to 

 see the crack. " Such a walker," etc., he began, when the 

 other man said, "But that's a chestnut; I thought that Orme 

 was a bay." " Chestnut, do you call it ? " answered the old 

 gentleman. " I call it a bay." Poor old chap, he really did 

 not know the difference between a chestnut and a bay, let 

 alone one horse from another; yet he had been following 

 the sport for a lifetime. 



