And they not only
are no good; they're a positive harm. You know and I know that just
as soon as a man gets cracked after fast horses, it's good-by John
with him.
In the next place, I wouldn't mind it if it was only interesting to
me. But it isn't. It bores me to death. You sit there and sit
there trying to keep awake while the drivers jockey and jockey,
scheming to get the advantage of the other fellow, and the bell
rings so many times for them to come back after you think: "They're
off this time, sure," that you get sick of hearing it. And when
they do get away, why, who can tell which horse is in the lead? On
the far side of the track they don't appear to do anything but poke
along, and once in a while some fool horse will "break" and that's
annoying. And then when they come into the stretch, the other folks
that see you with the field-glasses, keep nudging you and asking:
"Who 's ahead, mister? Hay? Who's ahead?" And it's ruinous to
the voice to yell: "Go it! Go it! Go IT, ye devil, you!" with
your throat all clenched that way and your face as red as a
turkey-gobbler's. And that second when they are going under the
wire, and the horse you rather like is about a nose behind the other
one that you despise - Oh, tedious, very tedious. Ho hum, Harry!
If I wasn't engaged, I wouldn't marry.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224