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Updated: June 19, 2025
The Bald-faced Kid, wishing to forestall a conflict of evidence, made it his business to have the first word with the principal witness. He walked beside Little Calamity as that dispirited midget shuffled down the track from the judges' stand, saddle and tackle on his arm. Close behind them was Hopwood, leading the horse.
They are always running a temperature Over the modern dances, Or the new skirts, Or the goings-on of the younger set. They can barely hold themselves in When they think of the menace of the drama; They seem to be going ahead under the idea That everything but the Passion Play Was written by Avery Hopwood. They will never feel really themselves Until every theatre in the country is razed.
As Mildred was about to answer, Cissy said, 'Oh, here's Freddy. Mr. Hopwood Blunt was tall and fair, a brawny young Englishman still, though the champagne of fashionable restaurants and racecourses was beginning to show itself in a slight puffiness in his handsome florid cheeks. He shook hands carelessly with Miss Clive, whom he called Cis, and declared himself dead beat.
Jockey Gillis; hm-m-m. There's a sweet combination for you! A horse that can't untrack himself, a jockey that never rode a winner, and a half-witted grocer! Why couldn't the chump stick to the little villainies that he knows about sanding the sugar and watering the kerosene? I declare, sir, if I had half an excuse I'd refuse the entry of that horse and warn Hopwood away from here!
Should my brother predecease the marriage or coming of age of my daughter, she is at once to come into possession of the said estate of Crowswood. In which case my nephew Mark and Mr. James Prendergast, of the firm of Hopwood & Prendergast, my solicitors, are to act as her trustees, and Mrs. Jane Cunningham and the said James Prendergast as her guardians."
"Oh, it was a hand buzzer, eh?" "Sure. I chucked it over the fence when I was turning him around after the race." "Fine work. What did the judges say to you?" "They warned me away from the track. I should worry. There's other tracks. Only thing is, they've got Hopwood in the stand now, and he'll be fool enough to tell 'em this was the first time he bet on the horse.
But not so rich as Winchell Smith, who has dealt exclusively with sweetness and light. Also those who laugh most caustically over the Hopwood estate usually find it convenient to ignore the fact that the greatest single contribution to it has been made by "The Bat," at which Dr. Straton might conceivably faint from excitement but at which he would have to work pretty hard to do any blushing.
You can't get the worst of it every time, you know. Be game." "I've had the worst of it every time so far," said Hopwood, with a dejected shake of his head. "Every time. I swear I don't know what's wrong with that horse. He looks all right and he acts all right, but every time he starts something happens. They bump him into the fence or pocket him or he gets a clod in his eye and quits.
His clothes, as Ross said, were still hopelessly clean and well cut, but he rode better than any man on the estancia, and did as good a day's work as any of the rest. When the day's work was over Hopwood could be relied on to provide baths.
Hopwood took off his glasses and fumbled at them with his handkerchief. "Where is he now?" "Second, turning for home. He ought to win all by himself. They're choking to death behind him." "And I didn't bet a cent!" wailed the owner. "But I said he was a good horse, remember?" "Sure you did, and he ... oh, tough luck! Well, if that ain't a dirty shame!" "What is it?" chattered Hopwood.
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