Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-06-16
PITCHERS.

letting you inland you're the only one that
is in. She'll be as good as 40 to /, and may
be better than that. Take her right down
the line. with the biggest piece-say, three
hundred-on to cop, and when she makes
the rest of the crabs in her race look as IL
they'd already been made into glue and
motormen's gloves, you'll be the cheerfuest
rough-neck this side of Connemara, or I'm
a Mulligan myself
''The books opened my mare at 90. ~
and TO- and when my Hibernian wing
wearer those figures he clomped all
over the feet of everybody in the Memphis
betting ring to get the coin down. When
he was all through digging his elbows into
people in the ring, and had got the $500
down, my nutty mares price was 10. and
g He had got an average of 40, Is and q
for his dust, and We stood to win about
$4,000 or the cut-up of $500 apiece. If
the mare should act like real, honest
Injun lady long enough to show what
really was in her.
LAS she carrying 11S pounds in the
race 1 was enabled to put on her a man
jockey with a pair of arms on him like
whittled-down piano movers. When L
gave this jock the leg up told him to pull
all of the mares teeth out with the bit II
he caught her trying to clamp her molars
down on the steel for a runaway, and he
told me that he'd hold her if he had to
jump off at the post and bang her over the
nut with half brick.
''The bag sure did me proud the way she
acted in the paddock before the race. She
quiet as a DunkardeSs at meeting,
although up to that time she'd invariably
been as bughouse at saddling time as a
Swede man-owars man with a leftover
souse, and she had a tight, squeenchy look
in her lamps that looked all the business
to me. / knew how she could go and how
long she could last if nothing happened to
her, and when I sadded her and observed
her sedate behavior 1 could just throw my
head back and close my eyes and hear the
bookies grouching over the cashing of
those tickets on my mare.
"My Irish angel and 1 went over to a
knoll in the infield before the race to watch
the outcome. decided not to accompany the
mare to the barrier that time. l figured
that after all of the schooling I'd given her
there wasn't any chance for her to do the
runaway stuff again, and I wanted to be
on hand with my Mick friend to hear his
bawls of joy when the mare creased alone
under the tape all by herself. The bugle
sounded, and leading the procession. with
fourteen in the field, my mare paraded as
quietly and decently stake gelding
that's been campaigned for five years on
the edge of two oceans.
But just as she got to the stretch of
track at the end of the lawn, where she
was due to break into little trot for the
barrier a quarter of a mile up the stretch
and around the turn. some lunk-head,
who'd been trying to dope out a winner
from past performance sheet, tossed the
piece of paper over the rail to the track.
The wind picked up the piece of pink paper
and carried it right over to my mares
mead, wrapping itself around her eyes so
that she couldn't see for few seconds.
The thing crazed her and away she went
like a scared mother kangaroo with her
young in her pouch. Hers was the wrong
way of the track, and she hadn't taken
four scared jumps before she got her teeth
down good and hard the bit.
Hold her? Swell chance! The man
jock did the best he knew but he might
just as well have tried to stop a steamboat
by standing up on the water and blowing
at 1t to pull that mare up when she was
frightened right and had got her gnawers
down on the iron
"'Go-ing anyway" howled the grand
stand bunch. with whom the craziness of
my mare had been a joke for some time.
The boy has lost the combination She'll
put down the first mile in forty fat Yee-
ow! He's letting her down now! and all
the rest of the loon language that's SO
agonizing to horseman that's got a run
away false-breaking at top tilt around a
track.
Il could see the man-jock saving at my