Judge — October 23, 1926 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

OCTOBER 23, 1926 One Hundred Years Around the Stables Being the Recollections of a Racing Spectator “You won the marbles? Say, that’s a horse of a different color!” —Oscar WILE THINK it was Firpo who, on af being asked what he thought of Samuel Butler’s Hudibras, replied “‘He’s a good colt, but he’s never had a decent jockey!” The famous diseuse was obviously con- fused. I have often been questioned concerning the early days of horse racing. Now that the horse has given way to whisky sours and EPINARD other fashionable forms of relaxa- tion, many of my younger readers know little of those first days of what I shall dub “The Sport of Kings.” Ah, there were lovers of good horse flesh in those days. I can remember vividly a barbecue I attended when we_ ate Epinard, just I and Edna Ferber and Epinard. Poor Epinard! There were tears in his eyes when I told him that he must go. He leaned over to me and said: “Sam,” he said, “Sam, I should never have et that there rarebit late last night. I had the funniest dream! You know, out in the street with only my underwear on ...teehee! Iwas never so mortified in my life!” By the time this article reaches your hands, Bubbling Over, the fastest By JIM ZULLY little mare that ever bit off your thumb in a stable, will have won the Derby, and, if luck is with her, the fourteen balkline billiard championship. Miss Over will be remembered for her notable feat in swimming the English Channel last. year chad only in a pair of overalls and a short clay pipe. A fact not generally known ts that I discovered this fleet little horse on a farm outside Nyack, N. Y. At that time Miss Over was in center field, but a few weeks at shortstop revealed her ability; and I am roud to say that she still remem- ers her one-time benefactor. Only last week I received this. telegram from Syracuse: “Joe: For — sake send me a fin. The show closed last night. How’s my daddy?” Perhaps the race that stands out most clearly in my memory is the classic Rubber Heel Sweepstakes SIR WALTER SCOTT AND MADAME X in Chicago in 1907. It was a gay scene; thousands of suckers in the grandstand, streamers streaming, leeks leaking—a sight to thrill the most jaded. And the shout that went up when Sir Walter Scott, black as coal and twice as expen- sive, dressed in a bewitching pink taffeta creation by Ginsberg with mahogany panels and piloted by a little lad who was to become Ferenc Molnar, was brought on to the track in a Ford half-ton truck! And close after him Maude X, three hands high and as lovely a BUBBLING OVER creature as ever attended primary school. Gad, there was a beautiful animal! And on their heels Dick Whittington and his cat, Ninon de L’Enclos, Mrs. Murphy and her cow, and that whole splendid pageant which was to make history that day. What a race! Although not a_ betting man, plunged when I heard that Sir Walter was leading by six lengths and bet fifty cents that he would romp home the winner; but he fooled us all and arrived home the next morning after breakfast, having taken advantage of the stop-over privilege at New Haven. This one unfor- tunate experience cured me of betting, as it is essen- tially crooked and I always give the money back any- way. comicbooks.com