Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-12-16
By Clarence L. Cullen.

On the last two days of the meeting at
Benning 1 observed one of the most noted
plungers of the American turf mooching
around in the paddock with considerably
more than the markings" of a bun" on.
But this plunger wasn't backing horses on
these last two days. In fact, he hardly did
any betting at all at Benning. He wound
up his plungng season-an immensely sue
cessful one-at Aquedust, and came to
Washington purely for relaxation. II this
plunging man had not shut up shop for the
season and folded away his little betting
book nobody would have seen him address,
ing himself to that "openin wine thing at
Benning. He would no more think of insert
ing into his system short sarsaparilla with
a stick in it during his horse-betting season
than he would think of accepting / to
against sure-enough to Shot
: That, as q matter of fact, Is the way it Is
with all Of the plungers Of this day. The
ma jority of them, the top-line plungers, l
mean, are teetotalers all the year round,
not SO much from principle as from habit.
- -
The old-time plungers-the big betters OF
a couple of decades ago-were a good deal
on the shine order. More often than not
they were heavy drinkers, and their plung-
ing was done on the bullhead-luck basis.
They weren't the cold-as-ice business men
of the betting ring that the piungers of this
period are. when their horse would come
out of theefotfda and cop for them the old
time piu6gers would watt all hands within
sound of their voices up to the bar and get
away with that 'topenin' wine thing. Now
adays when you see a flushed and Voluable
chap opening wine at the trac par you
can put it d as the cinchiest thing you
ever heard Of that he isn't any plunger. He's
Incl fellow who has won a DSt,
and he's celebrating the WIN Inc piunsers
don't four-f1ush around fuddling their heads
with the wine business.
Aside from the gleamy look Of 1.-THE
wine openin"'lthe chap who puts down
and collects the yellow bales today isn't
taking the world into his confidence as TO
his winnings. He'd good deal rather have
you take it for granted that he's losing
every minute of every day at the track
The old-time plunger was tickled silly when
the public accounts Of his winnings were
magnified three or four times their actual
SIZE.
But even so of the plungers who are
still in the game had to learn their niue
lesson before they got down to the mineral
water system during their betting seasons.
One Of the New York plungers who has
been winding up every season tens of thou
sands of dollars to the good for years past.
and who is good for his million or SO any
CHEEKY morning he cares TO stroll 10 tne
various places where it is sailed, was IN the
early DAYS of his extraordinary career
Winerno from away back.
He hasn't had the Gaul glow on him for
more than eleven years now, though, ana
there's a little story behind that.
With a couple of owners and trainers
this plunger had a thing fixed up Tor the
closing day at the Gravesend faa meeting
eleven years ago that was meant to drive
all of the bookmakerS to the rag bag ana
to make all of the pool room proprietors IN
North America mace their clerks Tor car
fare nckels on the evening OF the DAY the
thing was to go through.
The plunger was to get the duff down
and the people with the horse We're to do
the rest.
The thing that they were going to use
to stampede the stoolmen and the pool
room men to the swamp grass was an old
Grip that had been patched UP for MS one
minutes running work. The tinkering had
been done by one OF the trainers IN on the
frame-up, a man who could come pretty
close to taking spawned carpenters horse
of wood and turning it into world-beater
for just one race.
The old halt nag hadn't been out for
more than year, and 1t was pretty gen
orally known around among horsemen that
he had been neryed, SO that nobody was
afraid of him.
The aged gelding was dumped into five
furlong sprint and the plunger got his
gang of close-mouths together and sent
Them on their separate little missions to
the far cities where the pool room black
boards were up.
The other horses entered for the five
eighths scramble were all sprinters of high
degree, and so the plunger and his people
had it doped out that there ought to be at
least 100 to doing on their old patched-up
Grip.
That is the way it was all set up to the
morning of the race
On the morning of the day the race was
ha pnllad Munger had himself
and a gang of his cronies whisked out to
the Gravesend track in a caloosh. They
hadn't been to bed at all. The plunger
wanted to get peek at the old cripple be-
fore wiring out the final word for the coin
to be put down in the distant pool rooms.
The leftover souse was SO heavy upon
him that he could just about get out of the
hack when the shed was reached, and his
gang of cronies were right there with him
as to the zig-zag thing. The trainer came
out of the barn munching his straw cud
and looking innocence.
Lets take a peek at the old grasshop-
per-" ordered the plunger. Hes a bum, 1
know, to look at, but l want to see how he
sizes up this morning"
The, trainer gazed slantwise at the reel
ing chaps with the plunger and then pre-
tended that he didn't understand the
plungers request. The whole thing had been
worked up in star chamber. and the trainer
didn't want to have it all grabbed by let
ting in a lot of outsiders who happened
to have put In the night breaking bottles
with the plunger.
"Oh. these hay haulers are all right, If
that's what you mean" said the plunger,
noticing the trainers hesitation. Friends
of mine, hull bunch. They don't savvy
what's coming off. anyhow-don't savvy
anything just now. by the looks of EN-,
hey? Walk the old turtle out here In the
sunshine and let's have look at him."
There wasn't anything left for the trainer
to do but to walk the old Grip out.
The aged geldins, his legs done UP IN