
DURAY (THIRD PLACE) ROUNDING KRUG’S CORNER 
By and by, when we were yet a good 
half mile from our destination, we took 
off our overcoats and Dodge turned the 
car over to the chauffeur, telling him 
to run it into a field and there wait for 
our return when the race was over. 
Now came the real enjoyment of the 
occasion. We were free to move about 
as we pleased and see the crowd as well 
as the race; and the one would be no 
more interesting than the other. 
Perhaps I have taken over long to 
get to this point of my tale, but I am 
not telling the story of the race—the 
race was merely the cause, I am sketch- 
ing roughly what I saw of the effect. 
We marched along, finding our way 
with comparative ease in the semi- 
darkness of the early morning mist, 
until we came to the woven wire fences, 
nearly ten feet high, that had been 
erected to keep the crowds off the 
course. We followed along behind one 
of these, stepping over the forms of 
hundreds of sleeping men. How they 
slept I cannot imagine, for the racket 
of the incoming motor cars, which were 
being “parked” by the hundreds in the 
fields on either side of the turnpike, 
was tremendous. Added to this, there 
was the undertone of thousands of 
voices, such as swells up from any 
great crowd. 
Day began to dawn—a gray, October 
day, damp with the ocean mist that 
still hung low over the countryside. It 
was not cold—I feared rain. But 
Dodge said no. As it grew lighter, the 
scenes presented were the most ani- 
mated. As early as 5 o'clock the 
course was lined by thousands of peo- 
ple, old and young, big and little. The 
turnpike was constantly packed with 
vehicles. Pretty city girls by the thou- 
sands passed along, traveling in auto- 
mobiles with rich papas and mammas, 
all arrayed in the latest and strangest 
looking automobile wraps; country 


