Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1931-08-02

Stieh to IT, old mani We're sure to be second.
anyway The three of are rupning-dead
level The Sergeant's going like machine, bus
SO IN the Tartan Jacket. The horse On the lnsaae
II dead tired. but he's keeping up with w.
He's . sticker, all right.
They'll be betting against you in the stands
now, Sergeant, for you're the veteran OF tho
three and tzey reckon your sprinting days are
over They'll be barring the Tartan jacket ana
taking the slafliines and pounds that yeur SUD
porteEs are paunging on you, for they won't
desert yau now even IL they think the Tartan
Jackets sure to win
But we've got something up our sleeve yet.
YOU'RE the s,rest jumper in the country ana
you've heen setting half-mle sprintS IS
training for the National instead OF wasting
time on jumping practice. They don't KNOW
that old chap! It's lack Of speed that's beaten
you before, but perhaps theren be dinerene
story this time Just-wait till we get over that
last Jump! Then they'll see whether the OLD
Servants a. slow they think!
Just two more fences to get over and here's
the first OF them The three Of US ride In
line and sail over together. We land slightly
in front Of tina other two.
I lean forward and pat the Sergeants neck.
That was q fine one, old man! You're doing
all YOU know even If We dent go down on the
records. One more jump, Sergeant, and wen
sit dawn and sprint them for the Grand VA
tional
We thunder toward the last fence. The
horse on the inside is about all In, but he's
hanaing on still He'll likely come down at
the last jump. The Tartan Jackets going great
guns. The roar of the crowd rolls down wave
on wave to meet US.
Steady, Sergeant! Steady! We've got to
keep our heads here. Well beat this fellow
on the left, all right. Perhaps well beat the
Tartan jacket too. and they'll write The
Sergeant Wins the Grand NationaP IN the
evening papers. You've lived dozen years for
that, old mani Steady!
We reach the last fence-take on-rise into
the air. The horse the left is down. We're
over! The Tartan Jackets over! It's one Of us
for the National!
h low. boy let's he it. Let's see what your
half-mile sprints have done for you. It's
500 yards TO tine winning post and it's now or
never, Sergeant! Let's have it, boy!
crouch forward and ride desperately for
that white post with the red disk on top.
There's q rear like ceaseless thunder i'm my
ears % seems to be fillng the air. hemming
us In, h,arling onward. Race him for It. boy!
Faee him for 1t, boy! We sirply can't be
beaten now! Race him for it! You can do 1t!
We've simply got to get IN 'front.' Show EN-,
boy, show 'ens
And, the Sergeant sprints as he's never dome
before. Hall show EN-! TOO old to sprinti
Wen ShoW 'ent
We've drawing ane0d-n-tnlu8 cAA Sup ~.
The Sergeant's doing it-were going ahead-@
nose-a neeke-we're leaving the Tartan jackstt
Race him, Sergeant! You've got hinnl hun
dred yards and you've won the National Ser
seantk
The roar Swelis into o solid wave OF sound
as we leave Tartan Jacket. You've got 10,
old mani Yes you've got It'll We're lsngth
In frant already and they're yelling that fss
a million TO enc, bar the Sergeant!
Hwass the winning post-the Judge In lean
ing cut Of his box-we're past!
Yoa'va got yeuB NatiGal,s old mani
tgepyright. 1soAl