“Just a tinge of wickedness, With a touch of devil-may-care; Just a 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.