I asked the manager why he was so very careful to shield Sullivan from the popular view prior to his appearance before the footlights. I recall that he said: "If the public thought John L. was just an ordinary human being with black mustaches and a florid Celtic face, they wouldn't go to see him. The public demand that they be mystified, and to have shown people off the stage that Mr. Sullivan is just a plain, ordinary mortal would disillusion them and keep money out of the house." That piece of showman's wisdom was fresh in mind during the early career of Maxim & Gay; and so long as Maxim & Gay kept race-track men guessing as to who was directing its destinies, the organization was a howling success. Its good periods were mixed with bad periods after the mystery of sponsorship was cleared up to the satisfaction of the professionals by the inquiry of the race-track judges into the Smoke affair. A few weeks after the Smoke coup, our chief clocker informed us that the entries for a big stake race which would be run on the following Saturday had revealed to him a "soft spot for a sure winner," as he expressed himself, and he said we could advertise the happening in advance with small chance of going wrong. This we proceeded to do. Money poured in by telegraph from distant cities for the "good thing" on Saturday. Our advertisement on the Thursday previous to the race read like this: +---------------------------------+ | The Hog-Killing of the Year | | Will Come Off at Sheepshead Bay | | On Saturday, at 4 O'clock. | | Be Sure to Have a Bet Down. | | Telegraph Us $5 for the | | Information | +---------------------------------+ One of our constant patrons resided in Louisville. He was among the first to whom we telegraphed the information on Saturday morning. The race was run and the horse _lost_. About 4:30 P.M. we received a dispatch from our Louisville customer, reading as follows: "The hog-killing came off on schedule time--here in Louisville. I was the hog." Another message from a pool-room habitué reached us, reading: "Good game. Have sent for more money." We were often in receipt of messages of similar character on occasions when our selections failed to win and our customers lost their money; but these communications were generally in good spirit. On one occasion we had what we believed to be first-hand information regarding a horse which was being prepared for a big betting coup by Dave Gideon, one of the cleverest horsemen in the country. Following our customary method of using vividly glowing advertisements, with the blackest and heaviest gothic type in the print shop, we announced: