As a goad, the newspaper was ineffective—Johnny iced away the heat by maybe a couple of lengths. Time not recorded. However, several horsemen, well known to this writer as having trouble reading 24-point boldface at the distance of a foot, claim to have caught the eighth in 14 seconds. This is, of course, unofficial. Moreover, it is unreliable, as the ? pole was a small stick wired upright to a post inside the rail and very hard to find even in daylight.
The ostrich proved difficult to pull up after his stint; the driver finally running him (or her—the sex was never surely determined) into a fence on the outside of the track near the turn into the back-stretch. The bird became entangled in the fence, where, amid a great flapping of wings, he overturned his bike and kicked his driver several times at various points of that worthy's person.
Mr. Ellis and Johnny, being gentlemen of good will and helpfully disposed, drove around to the point of the bird's discomfiture where, despite his nine years or so of exposure to all the sights and vicissitudes of county-fair race tracks, the horse took fire from the ostrich's whing-ding and staged one of his own. He reared, came down facing his driver, broke a shaft out of a perfectly good bike and subsided in a tangle of harness that had to be cut away to free him. There was no money at stake, so Mr. Ellis came out with a loss on bike and harness, more than his pacer won all summer.
Well, that's racing—country style.
WALT S. GRANTHAM
Kansas City, Mo.