"I do not know."
"Did I not place him in your charge?"
"Yes, but you said, 'Clear him if you can,' and the last I saw of him he was entering the woods about two miles away."
HORSE RACING IN CHICAGO
Mr. Billings, the original West Side gas monopolist, had a pacer which could go on the street 2:40 or better, and my brother Gordon drove Tom, the silver-tailed trotter, who could crowd 2:30 very close. Billings lived on Lake Street, near Union Park, while we lived farther west, and we used to race horses nearly every day.
One noon, on going home to lunch, Billings tackled us on Washington Street for a race. Tom drawing us two was a little handicapped, so it made the race about an even thing. Billings became so excited that he did not turn off at Sheldon Street, to his home, but kept on through Union Park. When at Robey Street we encountered a fat colored woman and her dog crossing the street. A policeman saw us coming and tried to get her out of the way, but we ran over the whole bunch.
We turned right back to the policeman, who knew Billings had been instrumental in getting him his job. He said he was not much hurt, only his shins ached terribly where we had run over them with both wheels. The woman had been rolled over and over in the mud, but she said she did not care, only for her dog.
We decided on the officer's advise that it was better to settle the case out of court, so we gave the woman a dollar for her dog. The next noon we had the race over again, and really it was rich to hear Billings and my brother both tell how easily they would have won had not their horses gone into the air.