Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1902-10-25

yellow ribbon and the silver lace. but one
must go early to get fun view Of 1t: BY IL
O'Clock the walkways so full they are
no more than blurs and blotches of color.
At least half the onlookers are women.
tricked out In holiday bravery. Children
likewise abound-the most part In gay
coats. some few In somber black ones But
even the black coats have redeeming "trip
peries of lace and color In head and neck
gear. The surprising thing about the whole
assemblage. indeed. is that II is a dress pa
rade. no less for the spectator than the per-
formers. Beyond a doubt going TO the
Speedway stands TO many uptown residents
very much for what going to church did to
their rural or village ancestry.
However that may be- the crowd Is In
excellent humor with itself and the world
at large, with no greater present ambition
CARDS the speeding and the speeders. 1t
chats and preens itself. and ruffies into
gentle rippfes of interest at the daring of
venturous small boys. or at the sight Of
cunning small girls Juggling at the reins
out In the road. IL moves gently up and
down. and back and forth. or turns to view
critically some racing shell upon the
waters, gently curling the lip as 1t hears
the coxswain roar out orders evidently in
tended to reach its ears. Showing of on
the water. 1t has not come out To see or.
hear. The shells are. indeed. but Incidents
incidents which some of the over-nice
among the women incline to resent Bare
arms and chests and legs seem to them out
OF place In the face of daylight: notwith-
standing. other women applaud the display
and talk knowingly with their escorts of
feathering. reaches. body swings and
strokes.
Here Come the Stars.
Momently some star of the Speedway
flashes down the line. Murmurs go all
about: Nathan Stratus has Cobwebs out
this morning. Pshaw. I was sure he'd
drive Alves instead" Hello! Fred Gerken
In the side lines! 1t can't be he's going to
quit the game!' There comes Claus Bob
ling! Now look out, somebody. He told
heels Of everything likely to show today"
ALBERT Bostwick's trainer has got knee
boots on Johnny Agan. Yes. Bostwick Is
automobie-crazy. still he has not quite
given up horses"
A lean. brow nish bay. with fair head.
good legs and light middle piece flashes
past One spectator grirs at the sight say
Ing sageiy: David B. looks as though he'd
run jest about to match his namesake this
mernin'." Instantly somebody retorts:
Walt TIL you see him finish! It's my be-
lief he has never been quite all out here
no ..lere than the man he's named for
Maybe so.'' says a judicial third person:
but say. did you hear about old Cobwebsr
One day while back Straus got two friends
to hold watches on the old fellow while he
stepped quarter after he got going for all
nine seconds fiat What do you think Of
that? 1-5s gait for a horse thirteen years
old-and a faster quarter than ever Cres-
ceus trotted in a racei"
Hes wonder-no mistake" say the on
lockers: then huddle to the curb, saying all
together in breat tn And here he comes
now, Hurrah! He's having It out with
Dave Lamar and Sally Simpson"
Down course two little dust clouds have
resolved themselves INTO flying harnessed
racers. with drivers sitting low and close
behind. The wagons look cobwebby-hard-
ly stout enough to endure the impact o.
rnyAf6 ni~
hang breathless on the race. The man in
front has strong, Hebraic face. bearded.
shrewd-eyed. kindly. The lips are set the
eyes tense. the whole pose full OF power to
claim and keep. The whip Is held upright.
the reins tightly clutched-now and again
he speaks a low word. too low to be heard
by the sidewalk throng, though evidently
reaching the ears of his horse. Cobwebs
may know intuitively what his master asks
he goes. goes. with the mighty stroke OF a
machine. His stride is low and stealing,
his ears are fiat against his beautiful chest
nut head. his eyeballs flare. but not with
which, Joined with speed. makes the horse
which does or dies On. on. he thunders,
his head nodding the least bit in fine, fault
less rhythm. his quickening hoof-beats
sounding a march of triumph as his white
nose goes past the post half length to the
good.
Another Fight for Victory.
The battle is not won. Dave Lamar
wheels as soon as he pull up, asks a
question. mainly with his eyes. is answered
with a nod then almost wing and wing.
the pair race away to the back stretch and
again set sail. This time the mare lies
at Cobwebs' wheel-in the first brush she
fought for each foot of the way. She Is
bay. big and shiny. in the very pink of con-
dition, a credit alike to her trainer and her
sire. the worldfamous Eectioneer. She
goes high. so high It almost seems she
scorns the earth. but her reaching plunges
devour space Incredibly But for keeping
In place SO steadily a casual onlooker would
say the horse went ten yards to her nine
and covered ground with much more ease
to himself. But do what he will, stretch.
strain. quicken. he cannot shake her off.
She hangs like bulldog till fifty yards
from the wire: then the man in the white
hat, who has been sitting statue-like, leans
far forward. swfshes his whip nightly.
calls in shrill, whistiing tones, lets out the
least bit Of a wrap, and the race Is over
Cobwebs has lost, though by narrow mar
gin. A third heat Is, of course. inevitable.
People forget to gossip, and stand still. save
when they crowd for better seeing places.
This time the flyers come In view neck and
neck each doing a desperate best from start
to finish How the big. gallant chestnut
strainsi His motion is 50 swift eye can
follow 1t; the sulky wheels show only as
motioness. shining rims, magically impell-
ed along the course And gamely the bull
dog bay mare keeps at his throat latch,
lurching high she seems to be fencing
all the way. Neck and neck stride for
stride. they keep it up until the very last:
but the bay will act be denied; she gets
her nose In front by at least six inches.
There is applause all up and down the line
as she joys back toward the starting point,
but not so loud nor hearty as the clap
ping which follows Cobwebs all the way to
the cooing-out sheds.
The brushes have been typical-every
Sunday, every matinee. with sound footing.
sees them duplicated a hundred times over.
Even the least considerate horse master
hesitates to risk his flyers upon slippery or
sloppy going. or in stiff. holding mud. Not
few horse owners have stables close at
hand. E. H. Hartman. who owns the
famous John r. Gentry, for example. has.
right at the Speedway gates. what is said
to be the best appointed stable for harness
horses anywhere in the world. A dozen
others might be named. Indeed no man
can hope for fame upon the Speedway with
out considerable string which includes
both blood and speed. A few of them keep
only trotters; the most part have at least
one PAGER, and in not few instances the
PAGERS are the true stars. Brushes be-
tween trotters and PAGERS are not rare;
neither are matches between double teams
to road wagons with two persons instead Of
the ordinary trotting rig.