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Updated: June 6, 2025
That head clerk of his is an awful duffer." "Yes, but what are you going to do with the shop?" "The shop was the origin of it all. If it hadn't been for the shop I dare say I never should have thought of the race-horses. My father and I could never work together.
He then proceeded leisurely up the mountain, seated himself on an old Druidical altar, at the very topmost point, and graciously waved his hand to the expectant ladies below. Off they started like eager young race-horses, nothing daunted by the hard course they had to run.
You desire what I desired a life of luxury, brief if it must be, but happy a life of gayety, wild excitement, and dissipation. You, too, have a passion for pleasure and gambling, race-horses, and notorious women, a table always bountifully spread, glasses ever overflowing with wine, all the delights of luxury, and everything that gratifies your vanity!
You say it makes your father angry to have any one refer to your literary talents. I remember when your father bred race-horses, and how proud he was that a two-year-old colt showed traits and points noticeably like its high-priced dam. He chose for your mother, a woman of rare mind, and of poetic taste, and why should he not be proud and glad that his son resembles her?
He deposited all these pictures under the mattress of Giddy's bunk, and stood admiring his clean car in the lamplight; the walls now exhibited only a wheatfield, advertising agricultural implements, a map of Colorado, and some pictures of race-horses and hunting-dogs.
He went on in his grave, affectionate manner, telling me in a hundred indirect ways that I belonged to the useful rather than to the ornamental order of mankind, with never a thought in his good heart of wounding my feelings, or of letting me know that in his inmost soul he would have preferred me to be a soldier or an idler with race-horses and a velvet coat.
I believe that it was Mr. Leopold that told; he finds out everything. But I was telling you how I learnt about the race-horses. It was from Jim Story Jim was my pal Sarah is after William, you know, the fellow who brought you into the kitchen last night. Jim could never talk about anything but the 'osses.
Ten Broeck's race-horses, Pryor and Prioress, were foaled alike, fed alike, trained alike, and finally ran side by side, competing for the same prize. The eagle is not checked in soaring by any consciousness of sex, nor asks the sex of the timid hare, its quarry. Nature, for high purposes, creates and guards the sexual distinction, but keeps it subordinate to those still more important.
Behind him long rows of decanters glistened; above him hung pictures of race-horses and prize-fighters; and beside him, in his shirt-sleeves and wearing a cheerful smile, stood the bar-keeper. My speeches at the Bar before this had been of an elegant character, perhaps, but quite brief. They never extended beyond "I don't care if I do," "No sugar in mine," And short gems of a like character.
Let's talk of something else. I have some news. I am going in for breeding race-horses." "What do you mean?" "What I say. I have calculated it all out, and I find I shall make from fifteen to twenty per cent, on my money." "By breeding race-horses! And where are you going to breed them?" "You know those stables on the Portslade Road where the veterinary surgeon used to live?
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