Evening Star Newspaper, April 15, 1923, Page 78

Sandy the Trainer Typified Spirit of the Thoroughbred Rather Than Romance of Track. Past the paddock and on to the stand, Whip and heel and spur and hand; Buckle to buckle and knee to knee—. Rridle to bridie—""shake her free! * Up on the shoulders—iift her on! The little mare ‘vt him—on, . —Rhymes of €6 OURTEEN hundred!™ ifteen!” ‘Fifteen hundred’ says the gentleman; “fitteen hun- dred for the little Lord Valor; out of True Blue—a bit ‘@loky in the legs, but no better blood ‘in Amerfca. Fifteen, do T hear six- _teen? Speak up, boys—she beat Jack Tar a head on the post, carrying 121 pounds! Make it sixteen hundred and vyou Tead her away. Fifteon once— fifteen twice—-" Ola Sandy McKee passed a trem- bliing hand across his mouth. IMis daughter of | .eyes arrested the attention of the | man on the box; fingers fumbled in & vest pocket and produced a heavy gold timeplece. He held it up. “Fifteen and the watch,” he qua- ‘wered. doubls «plit-second repeater, listen!” He .pressed a hidden spring. “Its worth two hundred—a’ From | his upraised hand, a tiny gong sound- | ed tMe half hour by quarters, theh {f deeper cadence. the hour it- self. and { The auctioneer smiled indulgently. | “Fifteen hundred and the watch for Lady Courageous.” “Seventeen hundred. Sandy McKee lowered his His shrunken flgure relapsed said a voice. hand. into drab nonentity, his faded blue eyes - studied the tan turf at his feet. There was a sudden movement on the inner fringe of the circle. A man in his early thirties, attired a bit too | jauntily for the average horseman, stepped forward and held up two fingers to the auctioneer. ter nodded. “Two thousand dollars from the owner of Lady Courageous. Mr. Pen- nington retains his mare. That ends the sale. bovs.” He scrambled off the stand, and the crowd melted. leaving Tod Pennington trowning upon Sandy McKee. “You're an old fool The lat- | n.eited Pennington, “an obstinate old | tool. across the continent to fight the best trainer in Kentucky, but would beggar yourself for a ‘warmer.” Sandy McKee winced. “Not that he protested. “she’ll start again.” “Piffle! Here. bo Pen gton hailed a passing groom “Bring out Lady Courageous.” But McKee interfered hastily. “You can't show me anything T don't know. T've slept in her stall every night for two weeks. She has bowed tendons on the two front legs. her feet are contracted and she has a bad frog. “And the devil's own temper, added Pennington “Now, why do you want he: “Come with me.” gaid Sandy walked along the row washed stalls until they came to a little bay mare arching her neck with vou They over the half-door of her compart-| ment. “Basy.” warned Pernington, g kept a respectful distance, but McKes walked quietly to the stall door and stood there with arme at his sides * OR a moment the mare withdrew her head with the ears twitching. but, as McKee made no move, the velvet nose protruded timidly, and as ' 2 blind girl might pass deft fingers lUghtly over her lover's face the deli cate tactile hairs and sensitory nerves located in the soft pad at the end of the muzzle felt of Sandy McKee's hands and up along one arm to his! neck and features. Still he made no aove. The shapelr head lowered to b@ shoulder and nudged impatlent- " “Memory," explained McKee. Hs slid one hand along the mare's neck and rubbed the space between the ears pressing his fingers firmly over the skin and always in one direction. “She remembers how her mother licked her on the head and neck when she was a foal: it's better than pat- ting. isn't it, old girl? Now, listen!” He lowered his head over cupped hands. As if from far off came the taint strains of the bugle call to the post. Lady Courgedus jerked her head in the alr, small ears quivering. bandaged legs trembled. In luminous eyes the high lights danced | as she stared with distended nostrils in the direction of the track. “Imagination,” whispered Sandy MecKee. “"She sees herself facing the webbing right now. Easy, you HI' ol red stockings—I shouldn’t have teas- | from the Southern Pacific station to | ed you.” He came slowly back to Penning- ton. “Why does a man want his own chi1d?" he asked simply. hen Lady Courageous was foaled, Col. Penning ton says to me: ‘Sandy, I'll let you name her and I want you to watch over her like she was your own flesh and blood. The grandest little filly in the world, Bandy—all ‘Valor's courage and stamina and all of her mother’s speed and gentleness. Some day, Sandy, she’ll win the Pen- nington Handicap just as her sire a1a’ So I named her Lady Coura- geous and used to lay awake nights | worrying about her. And then—" . Sandy McKee's eyes wandered over the empty grandstand in the dis. tance—then—the Colonel died, and you left me at the farm and hired " Jake Mantor, who rushed her out as ® two-year-old, and—" He did not finis! " Under the mask of cyhical indif- ference that contrasted oddly with Tod Pennington's nut-brown eyes and ®oyish features, the warm blood coursed to the surface. “I thought it was something like st when you held up the watch,” he commented. "My father's, wasn't e McKee nodded. “He gave it to me twkea Ysior hung up thbe mile and a osrter mark at Latonia” nd the little mare—what were you going to do with her?” $andy McKee turned wide eyes on his gormar employer. “Why, take her back to California and build her up again.” “And then?” Sandy shrugged. “I don't know,” he mpttersd, but the light in his pale oyen ed him. “Dash it!” exclaimed Pemningten, #dash it, i I don’t think you'd brin of white- | and then down over the eyes,| Her | the | of Lord| Not alone must yvou con.e clear C. APRIL 15, W\ A N 7 ——— 'fi’fi c— EILW Ny N W = DOWN THEY CAME, ST. IVAN ON THE RAIL, LADY COURAGEOQUS AT HIS RIGHT! her back in the old colors and start her in the Pennington handleap™” Sandy McKee's lp twitched an afirmative. Somehow. standing there in his faded clotl he seemed to - not so much the romance and | rac ck ax the itul spirit of the des of the unfaltering and faft thoroughbred. Tod Pennington tore a leaf from a pocket memorandum hook and pen- ciled u bLrief inscription. He handed the paper to San Kee It was a Dill of sale, acknowledg- ,ing for value received the transfer of Lady Couragecus. With something sugges of old Col. Pennington's charm of manner. he hushed the other's stammering thanks to the little mare we. ve u. Sandy. und be good to eh, Sandy that much sentiment left in the world. You Scotch are a wonderful people. Good luek to you!" that was left of the famous Penning- Take | That night Sandy McKee and all! ton string departed in a box car for | California. Not until long afterward did McKee learn that the sale he had attended that day had been to pay | off the family debts. and that he had | left Tod Pennington lacking just §2,000 of having 2 cent te his iMustrious i name. 5 HE little town of Pleasanton drowses in the sunlight fort {one miles east of San Francisco. It is & pearl strung on a slender stream that winds over the level floor of the | Livermore valley. From an eminence {to the southwest the Haclenda del | Pozo de Verona looks down upon a | race track. » | Hither in the winter months come |shrewd trainers and gallant horses |seeking the seclusion of the quiet | hills and soft Acadian air. And into |'this setting one lute October after- | noon plodded a little old man leading |a broken-down bay mare. Half way |along the shaded lane that stretches {the l1ong lines of cool stalls, the man |paused to look back solicitously. ! The mare shifted her weight from one bandaged foreleg to the other and with upraised head stared at her surroundings. “We're almost there.” encouraged the man, “Just a little ways more. Didn't know where old Sdndy was taking you, did you? fampiliar about those barns ahead.” Lady. Courageous limped forward. ‘Uh-huh,” corroborated McKee, “same old home; going right back to the very stall where you was born, too! _AIn't changed'a bit, Lady—not one bit. Still got your mammy's and your daddy’s pictures on the wall, and it's cool and dark and quiet, That ain't all, either, Lady; tomotrow old Doc Kelly looks you over ard we start to patch them legs. 5 ChuckMng Gontentedly, .he led the way and stopped triumphantly before the open half-door of a box stall at the extreme end, 2 “Go on in, Lady- show those wise birds in Kentucky what a_cripple can do. The mare entered ;obediently, and he busied himself removing her hood and traveling, wraps: and ‘scurrying around after water and feed. * x % % LD DOC KELLY was bald and fat. He came waddling up the following day for the promised in- spection. ‘Through half-closed eyes he studied the little mare as she limped from her stall, appraising the exquisitely mold- ed head and long neck, the clearcut throat, the sharp withers and the deep chest that afforded unusual room for heart and lungs. “H'm,” he acknowledged, “she’s got right whinnied and | produced { soft blue mud. 1 v the Lord Valor strain all right. his|you'll begin running nice and easy,|lect to praise her extravagantly after big heart and all bones. That's the troubl Ler mother's ne'd nd then faster and faster—and first ry | thing you know, we'll go back to! a house and drop in her tracks before | Latonia.” she'd quit.” His fingers probed the injured ten- | the, swollen ankles. her he raised the hoots and v he straightened One | the vot Lady Courageous moved restlessly Early In the morning he led her to inarfan's quarters. “Here she 15" he caplitulated, “but if you make a botch of the job I'll kill you.” Doc Kelly made no botch. His every effort. In the evenings, by the H ight of a coal oil lamp, he studied | the racing forms, August came. Lady | was five vears old, silk of 1imb and Courageous n coated, trim in her pri |years rest behind her—a year spent} {in an equine paradise. Once again her owner sought o advised. “she's|father and his father's father had|old Doc Kelly and laid a heavy goid | through!” been students of horseflesh. Far all Sandy McKee's lower jaw dropped ©f them it was both a gift and a and then set stubbornly with a. elick, | Passton. | was all over and Sandy | Quivering like a girl who has seen!ple of hundred. Can you spare it?” “1 s: “Al the dav sand to one.” | nantly away. Not by the slighte: his face or volce €id Sandy she runs again' ight,” rumbled the othe: she does T lay vou & thou- expression of McKee Ler. The old cerice and green forever, | betray to Lady Courageous the fear L dldn't think there was |that was in his heart. He knew too much about horses for that. “0ld Doc Kelly's got a funny way bout him.” he confided to the mare hat night, “but he means all right. Next week he'll be hanging over the door just waiting for a chance to| | help out; you see if he dom't!" The next day he set about citting down the contracted hoofs and recti- fying the horny pad {n the sole of the right forefoot. “No more shoes for a while, old girl.” he chirruped; “going to let you stand barefoot till you {spread them boots. Just going to make you a mud-pack for that bad frog—funniest little old boot you ever saw—just you wait and see Lady Courageous nickered and bent warm nostrils to his coat pocket. e the customary Ilump of sugar and stroked her neck and flanks with long, firm pressure of his wrinkled hands. f In the evening he returned bearing a leather arrangement half full of The mare bent an inquisitive muszle over the strange object, and then wrinkled her nose and upper lip. “Now, now,” he scolded, “I'm not going to ask you to eat it. Here, give me the foo The hoof yielded to his touch and over it he fitted the improviscd boot. “There,” he grunted, “that's the best little old mud in the country— right out of the well of Verona. Mind you, don't knock it loose That night Lady Courageous leaned one ghoulder against the side of the stall and egsed herself to the straw ibed, holding her right foreleg gin- See anything | * ¥ . gerly from the floor. appreclatively. McKee grinned bandages the last thing at night and wet cloths for the day treatment. He looked up one day to find the light from the doorway blocked by the figure of old Doc Kelly. “WHy don't you use the firing iron?” demanded the veterinarian. “Cross-fire both legs and then blis- ter them. Bring her down to my place.” Go on away." bristled McKee; out of my light. “A thousand to one, you old foo! ugot I'd operate on your head If wasn't made o' iron!” away, heaven on all Scotchmen. Nevertheless, old Doc Kelly's wug- gestion, coinclded exactly with an impression that had been gathering strength in McKee's own minc. “I'm afraid we're going to have to do something cruel to you, but it ain’t half so cruel, after all, as keeping you from the barrier when you've been raised for nothing else. Un- derstand, old girl? We're going to bave to hurt you; going to burn the skin so that it folds right close to Piacé. “Then we'll put oni your 1M ol’ .red stockings, and by ; by— | i Hours afterward, when it McKee was her mother's ghost, the stout man and he waddled indig- | turned a perspiring face on his life- | watch and exami long friend. “I'm stfll laying a thousand tc he reminded, “but I hope I lose She's the gamest little mare that ever drew breath.” “Don’t T know {t!" flamed McKee. % % HE winter passed and a California spring painted golden popples on the emerald hills. Sandy McKee clunz Doc Kelly yelled, “a thousand says)of mentle exerci: you haven't even got a selling plater. | followed by Doc Kelly's careful ex- 1t {amination of the dry, clean scars, He caromed |Sandy McKee lifted his voice in an- snorting the vengeance oficlent melody of the- British bar- " {racks: l 1 " i For several days he concentrated stubbornly to a program of bandages, on ‘the task of reducing the swelling | lodine, over the tendons. applying cool, dry|9ally parade along the whitewashed | thregtened Doc Kelly, “not one warm fomentations and a stalls—a parade that almost imper- ceptibly extended toward the mile track that stretched alluringly at the end of the avenue: And Lady Courageous, hearing never a harsh nor loud word, and conscious only of tender ministrations and a growing strength- in the bandaged legs, responded in the only way she knew—with intelligent obedience to her trainer's every suggestion and with implicit faith that all was well. Then one June evening, after a day Wrep oid stable Jacket ot e v "And bary 'this dufter belew. There were Innumersble verses and nd slow “Lady,” he whispered to the mare, |he sang them all, while Lady Cour- ageous Nexed small ears forward and | back—aware trom his tone that her master was unusually content. < From then on the workouts became more ‘strenuous, and the little mare, nothing loath, fought for her head as McKee, standing up on the rail, hat in hané and watch in the other, waved to the boy 'on'her dack to hold s Never once did Sandy McKee neg- | on the track itself, | | watch on the latter's dusty desk. | “The fall meeting at Latonia opens uple of weeks,” he said. ‘M ol' red stockings need a cou- in a |ana 11 The veterinarian | picked up the | it carefully. | Then he 1aid it down, his eves twink- ling. | *“Am I a pawnbroker?" he demand- ;ed. Not a cent do T lend vou or any | | “FIFTEEN AND THE WATCH.” HE QUAVERED. “IT'S WORTH TWO HUNDRED—" ——— e other man, but,” he added, reaching for a check book, “I pay my bets— promptly’ McKee took the check and noted | that it was for $1,001. | “Not a - word, you old fool," i word )~only wire me when she starts; there {is a little more whers that came | #fom and it is & wise man who knows |when to hedg The trainer walked out the door and back to Lady Courageous. He made a trumpet of his hands and sounded softly the call to post. The mare quivered to attention. “Traveling clothes, Lady,” he exulted, “going back to old Latonia —going to start this very night!” * K ok X HE fall meeting had been on for two weeks when McKee, from Latonia, sent a telegram to the New York office of Tod Pennington. It read: o “Mile in forty-four on Come at once. Pennington showed up later. “Not Lady Courageous. mean—"" McKee beamed. ‘“Who else? To- morrow morning -at 5 o'clock I'll et her atep for you.” . In the cool, sharp air of the early morning Pennington met McKee at the stable entrance to the track just as Lady Courageous appeared with a stable boy on her back. The had dried out. X “Half way around in & two-minute T soft track. SANDY. three days TYou don't » The train a 1923—PART 5 LTL’ OL’ RED STOCKINGS | jog.” instructed the trainer, “then let her down to forty-eight.” The boy nodded and cantered away ! while the two men moved to the rail, watch in hand. Intently they studied 2 drab blur moving swiftly around to the half-mile post, where the mare's stride suddenly lengthened. | McKee's thumb pressed the stem of [ ands drawn well toward the body. McKee glanced | at his timeptece and closed the 1id with & satisfled click. ! “Under double wraps.” he observed | Quietly, “and a hundred-and-twenty five-pound boy." Pennington's eyes glittered. “Sandy, {1t's ‘a miracle! Two or three races {and she'll be In form.” | McKee frowned. ‘“She’ nd she runs but one rac “The Pennington handicap?” nodded. ready now, her already Tod Pen sadly. “Sandy. you' ving vour hand. There are three horses here that can beat the mare at her best and they'll all stare.’ “Yes McKee agreed. “they’ll start land a lot of others. but it will be a two-horse race.” “One horse corrected Pennington, “St. Ivan—the greatest stretch run- ! ner in America; a mile and a quarter {in 2.02 1-5 seconds. Who can beat | him?” Sandy McKee's pale eyes warmed to Ifanatical fervor. “My Iil' ol' red tockings,” he exclatmed, flercel | “that's who'll beat him! That's who'll { win the Pennington handicap. They've | never beaten the Pennington colors in that race, and they never will. The handicap's ours!” “She’ll be 20 to 1,” mused Penning- ton. “Better than that.” McKee told him; | “she’s down for 121 pounds, the old welght, and she'll run in bandages. Lord Valor's heart and True Blue's speed; 40 to 1, and a two-horse race. “Ah!" breathed Pennington, “I never thought I'd be back at the old game. Ten thousand to the winner, and 40 to 11" “The old place is for sale,” McKee interjected. “It wouldn't take much to fit it up as a stock farm. There's Lady Courageous—" “You old fox,” laughed Tod Pen- nington, “you'd like to see me keep up the family tradition, wouldn't you? Darned if you haven't got me going, too! Saturday? Youre on! The old wheel of fortune, eh, Sandy? Well, we'll give it one more spin!” The Friday evening sporting extras and the overnight entry sheets were singularly allke in their tips on the Pennington handicap. St. Ivan was the unanimous selection, despite his top welght of 128 pounds. Friar John 'was given the second choice, and the | Harbridge entry, third Concerning Lady Coursgedus the comment was | a1s0 untform: “Besn working fast, but first time out in a year. Legs doubtful” Late that night a watchman patrol- ing the darkened stables stopped to listen to a voice that sounded a melan- choly chant from a distant stall: | ‘Wrap me up in my old stable jacket, Put a slab at my head and my toe. And get you » penknife and scratch there: Here lies & poor duffet below. * ok K X \HE morning ushered in gray clouds scudding over a track that was lghtning fast. Tod Pennington showed up early in the afternoon with four trusted agents. He sought out Bandy McKee. “I'm heeled, Sandy: you amd I are Afty-Afty 1f the little mare comes home in front.” The trainer shook his head. “The purse is enough for me; that and the Lady. You'll need everything you can make to get the farm back and rebuild the stable.” “Fifty-fifty,” insisted Tod Penning- ton; “we’re partners no matter what happen: The first slates on the mile-and-: quarter Pennington handicap, with a fleld of eight starters, gave prices on St. Ivan at evea money, with Lady Courageous chalked up at 2 to 1, but almost immediately the former was cut down to 4 to 5 and then 1 to 2 un- der the pressure of public choic ‘When the odds on the McKee entry had lengthened to 40 to 1. Tod Pen- nington and his quartet of commis- sioners hit the betting ring from five points of vantage. ‘The mare’s former owner was recog- nised st the third dosk by “Big Jake” Schaefer. In .nr‘m to the laser's “I've entered | “H'lo, Tod, how you playin’ em?” he held up & roll of bills: “Hundred on the Lady to win.” “Four thousand to a hundred, Lady | Courageous,” droned “Big Jake.” | The man at his elbow rubbed the slate clear and the bookmaker leveled | his glasses at the other price lsts. One after another of the pencilers were sponging off the odds on Lady Courageous. Schaefer lowered his glasses and called to Pennington: “Who's this Sandy MoKeeT" “My father's old trainer,” Tod re- plied. .. The bookmaker's eyes mnarrowed. Over at his left ofie book was still oftering 40 to 1. He beckoned a mes- senger and thrust out a handful of cufrency. “Place and show on Lady Courageous,” he whispered, “over at ‘ Connelly’s—quick!” | The messenger aud Pennington {clawed their way through the crowd. | Billy Connelly saw them coming and guessed their purpose. He shook his tead and wheeled around to the board. Opposite the name of Sandy McKee's mare appeared the figures “15-6-2." Pennington held up a hundred-de! lar bill. “Lady Courageous on the { nose.» “Fifteen hundred to a hundred,” grunted the bookmaker and rubbed his slate again. Pennington turned. {In the swirling mass of humanity | struggling at the base of the New Orleans platform he recognized two of his agente. The book held out against the on-| | wlaught a minute longer and then de- clined all further bets on the McKee | entry. Meanwhile, hundreds of men had had time to ask one another what | it was all about; to look up Lady | Courageous’ last performance; to note that she was running under the old | Pennington colors, and to recall the turf tradition regarding a Penning- ton entry in the Pennington handi- cap. FE e OD PENNINGTON hurrier 1o the paddock. e was in time to hear Sandy McKee give his last in- structions to little Travers. a sfx- teen-year-cld boy, whom the trainer had picked cut after one glance at the inteliigent gray eyes and another at the long slender fingers. “Remember,” McKee said, “no whip nor spurs; when the time comes. talk to her. Keep close to St. Ivan as you can without getting pocketed; he's ull vou have to beat.” The boy nodded and MckKee gave hm a leg up. Lady Courageous was trembling in every dainty limb, her eyes twin pools of liquid flame. She jreared up, pawing with bandaged forelegs. and McKee clung to the { bridle. “Easy. you 'l" he soothed. red stockings,] “I know what you're waiting for; Sandy knows—there!” “All right!” cried some one, McKée released his hold and swept a final caress over the mare's satur- ated coat. Orne after another the starters in the Pennington handicap filed out of the paddock. A bugle sounded. ome on,” Pennington urged. “I've | { 8ot a good place saved for us on the raiL” . The fields of thoroughbreds pa- raded past the grandstand and then | turned back toward the barrier, St. Ivan leading the way. One giance at the majestic son of Petersboro. «nd another at Lady Courageous, strangely docile, canter- ing past on bandaged legs, and the crowd surged back into the ring. Once more the cry of “St. Ivan to win!” echoed through the inclosure. Odds of 1 to & were being written when the shout: “They're off" coup- led with the shrill clamor of an elec- tric gong, sent the human tide| sweeping again toward rafl and| grandstand. | Southern Belle, the Harbridge en- try, carrylng 112 pounds, had the early foot, followed closely by Cap- tain Adams and Starlight. The others | were bunched, with St. Ivan lying in | fifth place and Lady Courageous still | on the outside. | At the first turn the fleld shifted, | stringing out into a moving blur of | color. McKee's eyes falled him. | “The Lady,” is she?” Pennington stared through puck- ered eyes “I can't make her out. Sixth, I think—no, that's Starlight, almost the same colors. St. Ivan is seventh. Ah, there he goe: A jubllant roar sounded from the packed stands. The race was neal ing the half-mile post and St. Ivan Wwas moving up on the outside. One atter another he passed until he took command with two lengths of day- light between him and the tiring Southern Belle. In his admiration for the gallant leader, Pennington al- most forgot his own interest in the race and the little old man standing at his shoulder. He was recalled to his surround- ings by McKee's hoarse voice: “The Lady, where is she Again Pennington shook his head. He turned to a man at his side who was watching the race through fleld glasses. * “Can you make out Lady Courag- i he questined, “where | I 0, the man replied. “I plunged on her, too.” He looked again at the blur of color nearing the far turn. “My soul'” he exclaimed, “there are only seven horses out there and there were eight starters. She must have broken down!" A strangled cry came from Sandy McKee. Three irs of eyes swept the track that lay back of the run- ners. It was empty. The man with the glasses leveled them again. Then he took off his hat, flung it down and jumped on it. His wild yell was swallowed in a roar of wonder that swelled from the blackened grandstand. For the migh- ty son of Peterboro, swinging around into the home-stretch, disclosed for the first time that he was not alone. Running at his shoulder and on the outsids where she had been from the first quarter a little bay mare was measuring St. Ivan stride for stride! * o HEY made the turn, the boy on St. Ivan hugging the fence, his left boot held clear of the top rail. The mare swung a trifle wide and then closed again resolutely. Sandy McKee leaned far over the railing. His eyes caught that for which he was waiting—the ‘- red b;nug' in the sunlighs | tlo BY GERALD BEAUMONT. “There she come: he whooped. “There’s my I'' ol' red stockings; , there she comes!” The mare's quick recovery of the lost ground told it's story to the oy on the black horse. He shot one panicky glance at Lady Courageous, and then went to the bat. That fne atant of quick fear, communicating itself to the sensitive son of Peters- boro, put the most cruel of all han- dicaps on' a gallant horse. He re- sponded desperately as his rider's ¢ ‘whip rose and fell. ‘Now,” breathed Sandy McKee, “talk to her!” As it In answer to the tralners prayer, little Travers swung forward on the shoulders of Lady Courageous. His hands moved out on the reins to within a few inches of the bit. With’ face bowed to the mare's neck, his small arms gave with the bob of her head. Down they came, St Ivan on the rail; Lady Courageous at his right! “Pennington! The Pennington fin ish The cty awoke memorles of turf tradition. For the bay mare, true to her colors and her ancestry, disdaln- ing he rail and asking only for room , —plenty of room—was coming down the center of the track just as h sire and her mother had done in L days of the!r glory. Bt. Ivan gave to his rider all tho: was in him, but Lady Courageous was racing for Sandy McKee! Ly hear breaking inches she nosed ahead an at the wire it was Lady Courageo: by a neck and going away! Tod Pennington clung to the railing eyes mechanlcally set on an iro framawork across the track In's which white numbers wers dropping First a “2" then a then anothe: " He waited breathless, but there Wwere no more numbers. A great cr rose from the stands, Sandy!" stuttered “Sandy, a track record! a track record! But Sandy McKee was no longer « his side. A little old man was crouch ing in the winner's circle in front of the judges' stund; crouching there with anxious eves fastened upon « buy mare cantering back to bandaged legs that still moved clea: and strong. Little Travers held up h caught the judges' smiling slid from his mount. The stand: rocked, and the band played. G haired men clapped Sandy McKee the back and shouted his praiees. Jut he saw only a little bay mare nudg! forward to be petted; he heard the shrill whimper of ecstasy tha was blown through the blood-red nos trils of Lady Courageous. (Coprright, 1023.) Penning A cripple ar “American Elephants. 7THE commerce between the Unit- States and Africa has, since thr war, become lessened to a couside able extent and the supply of man of the products-that were formerl: imported from the African countries by this nation decreased considerabl and in some cases ceased entire Naturally the users of these products were compelled to find substitute of American make if they wished to continue the use of the articles. One of the chief imports from A¢ rica has always been ivory, the pro duct of the elephant. The boudoirs o many of the ladies of the land con tained many ivory articles, the pian sported its ivory topped keys and many other uses were made in thir country of the product of the tu of the elephant. With no ivory being imported, and having no elephants in this country Americans were compelled to find & substitute. Old King Cotton came to the rescue, offering a new means of producing artifictal ivory that Possesses all the beautiful qualitiesof the real thing. A cotton solution chemically treated by several pro- cesses changes the raw product of the south to a hard ivory colored substance that can easily be moulded into any shape desired. Manufacture and sale of this material as an ivor: substitute has reached large propos in the United States, Making of Linoleum. JT =ppears that the manufacture of Nnoleum depends on three main materials—cork, linseed ofl and bur- lap. Cork, the chief ingredient, comes from Spain, Portuga! and northern Africa, where thousands of people are engaged in harvesting from the trees. The linseed oil pressed from the flaxseed from the Argentine republic, which produces the greatest amount of flaxseed the world. Burlap is made from jute grown in India but woven in Sco: land. ‘Thus, six countries, thousands of miles distant, aid in providing mater fal for the finished Itnoleum, which made with appliances that require vast electrical and steel equipment and elaborate heating apparatus. ' Gold as Adulterant. ALLOYING baser metals to resen. ble gold or adulterating gold wit other metals to cheapen the product has been a common practice for cen turies, But that gold itself should be used as the adulterant for cheap- ening another metal is a strange de- velopment and one for which the electrical industry is largely responsi- ble. The use of platinum for electri cal contacts, for wires leading Into X. ray tubes and the like, has increased the demand for it so that instead of being nearly as costly as gold it now considerably above the latter i price. Consequently a French fir: has for some time been making arti cles of platinum adulterated with gold. Tallow Tree in Texas. N Toxas there 1s being grown a tree quite new to the United States —namely, the Japanese tallow tree. Trees of this apecies bear nuts con- talning & rich tallow-like oil, that has been found valuable in the manufac- ture of high-grade varnishes, -The climatic and soil conditions in ce: tain parts of Texas are well adapted to the growth of this curious tree. und the oxperimental gardens have been supplying farmers throughout . the lower Rio Grande valley with young trees.