LIFE WITH THE TROTTEKS. 67 



the grand circuit closed that night, and whatever was done 

 had to be done before eleven o' clock. My financial stand- 

 ing at that time was such that there was not much chance 

 for me to effect a loan at any of the National banks, so I 

 concluded to look around for some place where they loaned 

 money on less security. I happened to meet that genial 

 man and fellow-sportsman, Col. Jim Crawford, who had 

 been a side partner of Uncle Jack Bachelor, and who was 

 always willing to cake an even chance on anything from 

 jack-straws to foxhunting. I stated the case to him, and 

 told him how much money I thought it would take to pay 

 the expenses of entering Rarus through the circuit. He 

 took me to his hotel, had the safe opened, drew out his bank 

 roll, and counted out to me the amount of money that I 

 jivanted. I thereupon entered Rarus through the grand cir- 

 cuit, commencing at Cleveland and ending at Hartford, and 

 the following week I shipped him west from Long Island to 

 Cleveland. At this time he was rather high in flesh and 

 short of work, and I had but little time before his first race, 

 but still I believe that, had the track been good that day, he 

 would have won that. 



The only other starter in the Cleveland race beside May 

 Queen and Rarus was General Garfield, a horse that was 

 driven by Ed. Brown, better known as "Nosey," who was 

 born in New York City, but who at that time had made 

 Chicago his home for a good many years. He is dead and 

 gone now, but, in his day and time, no man was a better 

 "catch" driver than "Nosey," and, in this respect, he 

 greatly resembled Dan Mace, being able to jump up at a 

 moment' s notice behind any horse, good or bad, and drive 

 him about as well as he could go. Nosey was a character; 

 in personal iappearance he was somewhat uncouth, and not 

 much given to the foibles of the toilet, but he had a big 

 heart, a ready tongue, and was about as witty as they niade 

 them. As a hustler we never had his equal, and, more than 

 this, he could tell a good story well, even when the point 

 was against himself. A famous yarn of his in Chicago 



