Now if you think the Racing Public and millions of well wishers are hoping for this Kid’s recovery, what about the Horses? They knew him better than the Humans did. Why, that Horse would have broke his own neck rather than hurt Sande. Who is going to ride him in the next race and make him win and not whip him?--not Sande. Who is going to sit on him just where he will be the easiest to carry? Not Sande. Who is going to lean over and whisper in his ear and tell him when to go his best? Not Sande. Who is going to carry a Bat and not use it? Not Sande. Who is going to watch the hand on that starting Barrier and have him headed the right way just when the starter springs it? Not Sande. No, the Horses are the ones who are going to miss him. If we could speak their language like he can, here are a few conversations that you will hear through the cracks in the Box Stalls: “Gee, I can’t run; I don’t seem to get any help. I wish Sande were back.” A three year old replies, “I wish there was something we could do. If they would just let us go up to the Hospital and talk to him he would savy,” “I wish we had him here in a Box Stall. I would stand up the rest of my life and give him my bed. I would fix him some Clean Hay to lay on. He don’t want those White Caps and Aprons running around. He wants to lay on a Horse Blanket, and have his busted Leg wrapped up with Bandages like he knows how to use on ours. I bet they ain’t even got Absorbine up there. That Kid would rather have a Bran Mash than all that Goo they will feed him with up there.” The Old Stake Horse 4 stalls down the line overhears and replies: “Sure, I bet they have one of them Bone Specialists. What that Kid needs is a good Vet.” The old Selling Plater butts in: “Sure, we could cheer him up if he was here. Them Foreigners up there don’t speak his Tongue. That kid is part Horse. Remember how he used to kid wid us when he would be working us out at daylight when the rest of the Star Jocks was in feathers. One morning I told him if he didn’t quit waking me up so early in the morning I was going to buck him off. He got right back at me; he said, ‘If you do I will get you left at the Post your next race.’ Gee, he sure did throw a scare into me. And, say, you couldn’t loaf on that Bird either. He knew when you was loafing and when you was trying. I throwed up my tail one hot day to make him think I was all through. He give me one cut with the Bat and I dropped that tail and left there so fast I could have run over Man of War. Gee, those were great days; Do youse reckon Zev knows anything about it? I hope they don’t tell him; it would break his heart. He sure did love that kid.” Patient readers, Lincoln went down in History as “HONEST Abe,” BUT HE NEVER WAS A JOCKEY. If he had been a Jockey be might have gone down as just “Abe.” TAKING THE CURE, BY THE SHORES OF CAT CREEK [Illustration: “IF YOU DON’T GET WELL AND THROW AWAY YOUR CRUTCHES I GET NOTHING OUT OF IT.”]