IN THE KNOW.
(By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet.)
There was some good racing at Newmarket last week, and, as usual, every single race proved up to the hilt the extraordinary accuracy of my forecasts. I said a year ago that "Bandersnatch was a colt who hadn't a chance of winning a first-class race. Only a March hare or a Bank-holiday boozer would think of backing him." Bandersnatch's name never even appeared on the race-card last week. Mr. Jeremy says the colt is dead, as if that had anything to do with it; but of course if the gullish herd chooses to cackle after Mr. Jeremy it's no use trying to help them.
The hippopotamus-headed dolts who pinned their faith to Molly Mustard must have learnt their lesson by this time. Of course Molly Mustard defeated that overrated sham Undercut; but what of that? When Undercut was placed second to Pandriver at the North Country Second Autumn Handicap two years ago, I warned everybody that Wobbling Willie who is half-brother to Rattlepate by Spring Onion, ought to have made a certainty of the race if the gruel-brained idiots who own him had only rubbed his back with Daffy's Elixir twice a-day before going to bed. As it was Wobbling Willie rolled about like a ship at sea, and Brighton Pref passed him in a common canter. That scarcely made Molly Mustard a second Eclipse. The fact of the matter is she is a roarer, or will be before the season is over, and those who backed her will have to whistle for their money. All I can say is, that I hope they will like the trap into which their own patent-leather-headed imbecility has led them.
Corncrake is a nice, compact, long-coupled, raking-looking colt, with a fine high action that reminds me of a steam-pump at its best. He is not likely to bring back much of the £3000 given for him as a yearling by his present owner, but he might be used to make the running for his stable-companion Catsmeat, who was picked up for £5 out of a butcher's cart at Doncaster.
For the Two Thousand I should have selected Barkis if he had been entered. Failing him, there is very little in it. Sandy Sal might possibly have a chance, but she has always turned out such an arrant rogue that I hesitate to recommend her. Mr. Jeremy plumps for Old Tom, and the whole pack of brainless moon-calves goes after him in full cry as usual. If Old Tom had two sound legs he might be a decent horse, but he has only got one, and he has never used that properly.
