bit of bone and meat,
With plenty of nerve to dare.
And, on top of all things--he must be a tough kid."

And "Father Bill" Daly ought to know above all others, for he has
trained more famous jockeys than any other man in America.

There are two essential points in the training of race-horses--secrecy
and ability. Crimmins possessed both, but the scheduled situation of the
Calvert stables rendered the secret "trying out" of racers before track
entry unnecessary. It is only fair to state that if Major Calvert had
left his trainer to his own judgment his stable would have made a better
showing than it had. But the major's disposition and unlimited time
caused him more often than not to follow the racing paraphrase: "Dubs
butt in where trainers fear to tread."

He was so enthusiastic and ignorant over horses that he insisted upon
campaigns that had only the merit of good intentions to recommend
them. Some highly paid trainers throw up their positions when their
millionaire owners assume the role of dictator, but Crimmins very seldom
lost his temper. The major was so boyishly good-hearted and bull-headed
that Crimmins had come to view his master's racing aspirations almost as
an expensive joke.

However, it seemed that the Carter Handicap and the winning by his
very good friend and neighbor, Colonel Desha, had stuck firmly in
Major Calvert's craw. He promised to faithfully follow his trainer's
directions and leave for the nonce the preparatory training entirely in
his hands.

It was decided now that Garrison should try out the fast black filly
Dixie, just beginning training for the Carter. She had a hundred and
twenty-five pounds of grossness to boil down before making track weight,
but the opening spring handicap was five months off, and Crimmins
believed in the "slow and sure" adage. Major Calvert, his old
weather-beaten duster fluttering in the wind, took his accustomed perch
on the rail, while Garrison prepared to get into racing-togs.

The blood was pounding in Garrison's heart as he lightly swung up on the
sleek black filly. The old, nameless longing, the insistent thought
that he had done all this before--to the roar of thousands of
voices--possessed him.

Instinctively he understood his mount; her defects, her virtues.
Instinctively he sensed that she was not a "whip horse." A touch of the
whalebone and she would balk--stop dead in her stride. He had known such
horses before, generally fillies.