I did not improve my position as the final week wore on, either, dribbling away another $48 by late in the afternoon of the last market day of the competition—Friday the 13th of August. At just about the time President Nixon embarked for a weekend at Camp David, a report came in from headquarters that The Mysterious Mr. Margin had stumbled badly, losing a resounding $337 in the fifth week to end up at $1,132.85. I was some $450 ahead with a day to go. There was no way that I could fail to win. The ordeal was over.
I did bet $420 the last day in a vain effort to score big and end up in the black, but I lost $210 in this dying gasp and finished with $1,374.90. In salute to The Mysterious Mr. Margin, I also played an appropriate little flyer for him, betting $10 on Sid's Bid in the eighth. Sid's Bid raced for the Blue Chip Farm. He ran next to last, beating only one horse in the field—the one on which I had placed my final serious bet.
Two days later President Nixon came back from Camp David and announced the wage-price freeze. The market shot up 33 points that Monday and the annual summer rally began. My own broker called up about a dandy little over-the-counter item. "Sure," I said. "Anything. I'm the guy that beat the market."
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