CHAPTER XIII 



NEWMARKET 



Newmarket, you know, is the Metropolis of the 

 Turf, and all other centres quite countrified. 

 Outside racing matters, the little town places 

 itself, I believe, second to London, with 

 Yarmouth third. Of Newmarket I am very- 

 fond, as anyone must be who knows the place 

 and is able to get about. Its air, water, and 

 Mr Musks's mutton are almost unapproachable, 

 in combination for hygienic purposes. I have 

 wondered if a sort of balance to racing's fortunes 

 might not be found in exploiting Newmarket as 

 a health resort. Testimonials by the tens of 

 thousands are always available from frequenters, 

 or merely occasional visitors ; who mostly, in 

 spite of setting quite the wrong way to work, do 

 reap great benefits from passing a few days 

 between the Heath's remainders as cut up for 

 civilisation's requirements. How do most of us 

 go while doing a meeting ? What percentage of 

 the racing army gets its pennyworth out of the 

 grand, strong air a-mornings, or then takes 

 exercise enough ? A precious small one, as you 

 must know, if you patrol the roads within a quite 

 moderate radius of the late Mr Blanton's clock 



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