A COUNTY GONE MAD 
The Topsy Turvy Effect of the Vanderbilt Cup Race 
BY J. WILLIAMS MACY, Jr. 
P to 11 o’clock on Friday night, 
| | October 5, Nassau county, Long 
Island, was comparatively ra- 
tional. Considering it was the eve of 
the greatest outdoor event of the year in 
all America, the automobile road race 
for the Wm. K. Vanderbilt, Jr., cup, 
Dodge and I were a trifle disappointed. 
We had come early in a hired run- 
about, thus avoiding the rush and 
- crush on the ferry-boats and trains, 
and spent the evening watching for the 
fun to begin. But so far everything 
was flatly decorous, tiresomely like 
noon hour on Nassau street—except 
for the darkness and the automobiles. 
We kept moving about, from one place 
to another, looking for “sights” that 
never appeared. There were great 
crowds collecting everywhere, of 
course, and the highways and the by- 
ways overflowed into dooryards, fields 
and vacant lots. The peanut vender 
and all his tribe turned the night into 
day with gasoline torch and leather 
lungs, and the brain grew dizzy watch- 
ing the countless thousands of glaring 
automobile headlights. 
As midnight drew near, however, the 
county began to liven up. And as we 
were careful to keep in the thick of 
things, we saw it all, from the gay 
crowds of society folk at the big hotels, 
to the arrest of pickpockets, the over- 
turning of a pie emporium by a run- 
away horse, a fight between hack 
drivers, and men and boys sleeping, 
by hundreds, in the fields. I was im- 
pressed by the last named spectacle, yet 
not more than by the constantly in- 
creasing swarm of automobiles. They 
came from everywhere and anywhere 
that a motor car might come from. 
And through it all, Dodge at the wheel 
of our little gasoline runabout wormed 
his way as skilfully as the best of 
them, nor once forgot to inquire after 
the comfort of the chauffeur, who rode, 
perforce, on the tool-box. 
“How soon do we sleep?” I ventured, 
it now being midnight and I feeling 
vastly tired. 
“Sleep!” shouted Dodge. “Sleep!” 
and he playfully cuffed the chauffeur. 
I inwardly groaned, for I feared the 
worst. Nor was I wrong. Almost 
immediately we turned in at a road- 
house from which there came the 
sounds of much revelry. 
“Come on,” said Dodge. He paused 
on the top step of the veranda and 
turning, looked down upon the French 
chauffeur and me. He struck an atti- 
tude, and we stood respectfully wait- 
ing. He seemed to sniff the air, as a 
war horse scenting the battle afar. 
Then in his deepest chest tones he 
roared: “Eat, drink and be merry, for 
to-morrow night we sleep!” 
We ate, drank, and Dodge, at least, 
was merry. I made an honest attempt 
to forget my sleepiness; and the chauf- 
feur, could he stand it? 
“Oui, out!” 
After midnight the sights were the 
gayest. Although the great majority 
found sleeping quarters, if not indoors, 
then in tents, in automobiles and on the 
ground, there were countless all-night 
parties like our own, most of them en- 
joying the lark with freest abandon. 
Conviviality had the right of way, it 
was the part of every one to kick up 
high jinks and help keep the county 
awake. Whoop-ee! Honk, honk! 
Way for the right honorable Mr. No=- 
body—in your dust behind you. Health 
to men and death to—to—any old stick- 
