Judge — January 29, 1927 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE An Unusual Combination Gravel, Ky. HE little town of Gravel, Ky., four miles outside of Lexington, claims the unique distinction of numbering among its inhabitants Miss Lyra Snodgrass, generally con- ceded to be the world’s champion horsewoman. Although not a Gra- velian by birth, Miss Snodgrass has resided there a major portion of her twenty years. She was originally a resident of New York City, where, after being left an orphan at a tender age, she was adopted by a crack white-wings unit and cherished as the daughter of the regiment. It was here that she probably first came in contact with horses. After three happy years with her guardians, she moved to Gravel in order to be near as many horses as possible. For the last sixteen years Miss Snodgrass has been a constant hanger-on around the stables, where her job is to lead a horse to water; but, as she laughingly remarks, “You can’t always make him drink!” Miss Snodgrass, probably through Youre A FINE gap We have no name for this rear-seat-driver YOU’RE AN ASS! Signal to the fellow behind who blows his horn when you can’t locate the starting pedal. Unfortunate vaudeville accordion player whose hall bedroom is too small to practice in. but every married man should have one. long association with her equine friends, has taken on many of their characteristics, including a long, bushy fetlock and cropped ears. She is responsible for the prediction that in ten years American women will all crop their ears, and this correspond- ent for one, sees a grain of truth in the statement, for cropped ears lend any woman an air of smartness, es- pecially if she be equine. But it is in her eating that Miss Snodgrass most closely resembles her four- footed friends. She eats like a horse, only different; whereas most of them eat from mangers, Miss Snodgrass uses a plate. She eats quite heavily as a rule; her record performance took place recently when at one sitting she disposed of two pecks of peanuts, five lemons, half a dozen squabs, two pounds of watermelon rind, and three copies of the Satur- day Evening Post. As they carried her to the operating table she whis- pered, “Some rat must have stolen that gallon of ice cream I had in the ice box. But let him beware; an elephant never forgets!” This last is really an inaccuracy, for strictly speaking, Miss Snodgrass is a horse rather than an elephant. The one disadvantage of being a horse woman, as she herself points out, is that she has to be shod at least twice a year. “The nails used to hurt my feet, which were tender,” says Miss Snodgrass, “but as time wore on I got used to it. For the average woman who wants some- thing chic as well as serviceable, I should suggest a Number 5 steel shoe, held in place with a three- penny nail, say.” With only one or two exceptions Miss Snodgrass has given up her friends, preferring to hang around the stables where she knows she will get sympathy. There is some- thing almost noble in the sight of this free untamed creature running after the head stable boy and whin- nying for carrots or a cube of sugar. The horses themselves are very fond of her and have made her their con- fidante. They call her “Our Little Lady of the Elephants,” probably a sly allusion to the episode men- tioned before. But Miss Snodgrass only pouts and tosses her fine head. “You just wait till I get old enough to draw a grocery wagon!” she taunts them, and if this prediction means anything, she will yet draw plenty of them. She has been pronounced by many lovers of fine horse flesh as “a nifty piece of yard-goods,” and her career is only beginning. Perelman comicbooks.com