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Newspaper Page Text
By, George Munson
(Copyright, 1917, W. G. Chapman,)
Hardwicke was broke, . that was
the word passed around the" stables.
He had played the races years, en
tering some of the best horses that
were, who romped home ahead of
the fastest to be found along the
mountain border of the state. His
had -been Egliston, who romped
home ahead of the fastest horse
known before that, Cleopatra, and he
had cleared $70,000 that day. Yet
he was broke.
Hardwicke had an uncanny genius
in determining a horse. He did not
breed horses. He picked them up.
-He had picked Egliston out of a
farmer's trap when she was a filly.
He had found Ida Brown yoked to
a plow, the farmer mating his one-year-old
filly with a mule to draw his
implement across his light furrows.
He had taken Coniston from a doc
tor's trap, paying the astounded
medico $200 on the spot. Coniston
had brought him $900,000 in his
How did Hardwicke go burst? Not
on the racetrack. Speculation,
probably; at any rate, at 50 Hard
wicke was a down-at-heels hanger
on of the race tracks, betting in fives
and tens where he had once bet
thousands without flinching.
Hardwicke loved the races, but he
knew he would have sense enough to
quit if he could raise $20,000. He
would go south and start that horse
. farm he had always had in mind, and
never see a race track again. But
$20,000 seemed an impossible sum.
Hardwicke was living on the gen
erosity of former friends.
The great state races were to come
off in three months' time. Some-,
body spread the rumor that Hard
wicke had another find. The rumor
took more concrete shape. Hard
wicke had found a snow-white stal
lion, a 5-year-old, pulling a driver's
cart through the streets of the vil
lage. And it was said that Bob White
was going to carry everything before
him at the races.
Now, Bob White was pretty well
known. He was an underfed, over
worked horse of no particular repu
tation, a little fast, perhaps, for a
driver's cart, but not even of racing
build; The shoulders were too
straight. There was a distinct sag
along the backbone. Bob White was
Putting Up a Pretty Fast Pace
not the horse that would have ap
pealed to any one as having the
makings of a racer. And he was 5
years old, an age at which, most rac
ers have retired from active service.
Still, Hardwicke was a sort of
legend and there were hundreds in
the sport-loving town "who would
back Hardwicke's judgment in pref
erence to their own. And then there
was the mysteryDf the proceedings.
Hardwicke's groom, Jones, would be
seen exercising Bob White at dusk;
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