A TURF OMEN

Dominion, Volume 10, Issue 2986, 25 January 1917, Page 6

A TURF OMEN

— o ; THE LAW OF COINCIDENCE (By Wi.) I have known many punters in my time, but the weirdest of them all was a fellow called Harris. He was a fatalist. At least, he was until one day last week, when his fatalism received a jolt that' knocked it side-ways, end-ways, all-ways. He and I were, motoring out to a race meeting, and the car broke down. Just opposite the spot, on tho railway line, was a white post with the figure "3" painted on it in black, letters. '• "We've covered just exactly three miles," said I to Harris, indicating the post. Harris looked round. "An omen, by gad! It's an omen!" "Piffle," said I. "It's three miles. Omen your grandmother." Harris was quite excited. "My dear chap," he said, "I'm a fatalist. We're going to get out to that race-meeting someiiow, and I'm going to stick to Number Three right through." "You'll lose your money," I said. "That's all right," he said. "You back your scientific system, and I'll back my omen. I've got just as good a chance as you." As we couldn't get the car to move, wo pushed it to the side of the road, w.alked to the nearest station, and caught a train to tho racecourse. Harris was fidgeting about like a cat on hot bricks, in a desperate hurry to give his omen a run. Number Threo in the next race was a horse called Tho Spider. "Look here, Harris;" I said,. "I'm not keen on omens myself, but if I were ir certainly wouldn't back a thing with a name like that." -• "Nonsense," said he. "What's in a name, anyway?" "Please yourself," I said. "Only, remember .what happened to the fly, that's all." The Spider ran third. "There you are," I said. "What about your'omen now?" , "It's all right," he said. "The average man would say it was all wrong," said I. "Not a bit," said Harris, with the obstinacy of a fanatic. "The trouble is that I read the omen the wrong way. Next time I'll back the third favourite." . Harris put his money on tho third favourite. Number 3 on • the card romped in and paid a huge dividend. "Well," said I. "How about it now?" ■''•-. •» He was distinctly annoyed, and blamed me for undermining his confidence and putting him off his omen. "You put yourself off," said I. "Toird better have a bet on the favourite this time and get some of your money back.' It's a sure thing." No—he would stick to his omen this time. "Have it your own way," I said. "What's its name this time?" "Fluffy-Ruffles," he said, looking at the card. '•'That thing!" I exclaimed. "Hang it, man, you won't even get a run for vour money." "Why?" he asked. "She'll play up. Always docs." He wouldn't bo put off his silly old omen. Fluffy-Rulflcs raised Cain at tho start, throw her rider, evoked much profanity, and was finally taken off the course in disgrace. Harris at this stage wavered in his faith. "Cheer up," 1 said. "There's something in your omen after all." How?" ho asked, hopefully. "The jockey lost three of his front teeth." ' i