What do you think?
Rate this book


240 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1956
"You're as sensitive to weight as an apothecary's scale," a reporter in the back shouted.Lol. I love it.
"I better be," Henry answered gruffly through the screen door. "No one else is or we wouldn't be assigned more pounds than ever before in the Carter."
"Maybe he's more horse than ever raced in the Carter," someone suggested. "After all, Henry, it's the handicapper's job to try to bring all horses down to the wire together."
"And it's my job and privilege to withdraw my entry from a race when I think the weight assignment is excessive!" Henry bellowed at the top of his voice...
"You mean you're going to start the Black in the Carter?" Alec asked... "Then why'd you make such a fuss?"
"You wouldn't want anyone to think I was satisfied with the weights, would you?" Henry asked impatiently.
"The Old One in the office," as Michael Costello had referred to the track handicapper, was truly old. His hair, what there was of it, was snow-white and his hands shook involuntarily when he carefully figured out his weight assignments. But he wore no glasses and believed his eyes to be as keen as ever. They'd helped make his weighted ratings of horses one of the best guides of true champions or those on their way to the top. Usually when he packed a high impost upon a horse his judgement proved to be sound. Usually but not always.There's more, too: there's the conversations between the jockeys, and their tactics, and real desperation on Alec and Henry's parts. But the handicapper will always be my favorite. His chapter (which continues from the excerpt above) is one of the most compelling Farley ever wrote.
The Old One hadn't liked the way Casey had won the Carter Handicap the preceding Monday. At 135 pounds the chestnut horse had cut down the others in the stretch as if they'd been just play for him. It must never happen again. Not that he sympathized with the underdog. No, it was simply that there never should be a badly beaten underdog. He had failed utterly to give every horse a chance at first money.
Was he perhaps getting too old, as a few of the newspapers had intimated? Were his eyes as keen as he believed them to be?