Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1923-04-15

! her back in the old colors and start
her IN the Pennington handicap"
Sandy Mckee's lip twitched an
| affirmative. Somehow. standing there
! in his faded clothes. he seemed to
! typify not so much the romance and
/ vicissitudes of the racetrack the
unfalterins and faithful spirit Of the
thoroughbred.
/ Tod Pennington tore a leaf from a
pocket memorandum hook and pen
ciled brief inscription. He handed
the paper to Sandy Mckee.
| It was a bill OF sale, acknowledge
! ing for value received the transfer
| of Lady Courageous. With something
charm Of manner. he hushed the
others stanmerins.
/ MY thanks to you. Sandy. Take
. the little mare west and be good to
! her. The old cerise and green forever,
eh, Sandy. I didn't think there was
that much sentiment left in the world.
You Scotch are Il wonderful people.
/ Good luck to YOU!
| That night Sandy Mckee and all
| that was left of the famous Penning-
ton string departed in box car for
/ California. Not until long afterward
did Mckee learn that the sale he had
attended that day had been to pay
off the family debts. and that he had
! left Tod Pennington lacking Just $1,000
, Of having a cent to his ifiustrious
name. ~
| THE little town of Pleasanton
i drowses in the sunlight forty
one miles east Of San Francisco. 1t
| is q pearl strung on slender stream
that winds over the level floor of the
Livermore valley. From an emipence
to the southwest the Hacienda del
Pozo de Verona looks down upon a
| race track.
| Hfther in the winter months come
shrewd trainers and gallant horses
seeking the seclusion Of the quiet
hills and soft Acadian air And into
this setting one late October after
noon plodded a little old man leading
broken-down bay mare. Half way
along the shaded lane that stretches
from the Southern Pacific station to
the long lines Of cool stalls, the man
| paused to look back solicitously.
The mare shifted her weight from,
one bandaged foreleg to the other
| and with appraised head stared at her
surroundings.
We're almost there" encouraged
| the man. "just a little ways more.
Didn't know where old Sandy was
, taking you, did you? See anything
familiar about those barns right
+, ahead"
Lady Courageous whinnied and
ltmped forward.
| Ch-huh. corroborated Mckee.
same old home; going right back TO
| the very stall where you was born.
too! Amt changed 4 bit, Lady-not
one bit. Still got your rnammy's and
your daddys pictures on the wall.
and it's cool and dark and quiet, That
amt all. either, Lady; tomorrow old
Doc Kelly looks you over and we
start TO patch them legs"
| chuckhng oontentedly. he led the
way and stopped trtumphantIy before
the open half-door Of box stall a,
the extreme end.
60 on in, Lady-eiheres whore we
show, those wise birds in Kentucky
what q cripple can do"
The mare entered ,obedisntly, and
he busted himself removing her. hood
ana travelling, wraps and ,scurry.ns
around after water and feed.
I0LD DOC KELLY was bald and
~ fat. He came waddling up the
following day for the promised in
1 spection.
Through half-closed eyes he studi ed
| the little mare as she Iimped from her
stall. appraising the exauisitely mold
ed head and long neck. the clearcu,
throat. tho sharp withers and the
deep chest that afforded unusual room
l for heart and lungs.
i aHm," he acknowledKed. she's 20,