Friends, Relatives, Lend Me Your Ears

You know the rest. The Doc ran against the same kind of horses at the same distance on New Year's Day. As young horses sometimes do, he suddenly found himself. And he proved to be the long shot of long shots at the Tropical meet. He started my stable off for the New Year with a bang. Or did he?

I didn't have a penny bet on him for myself, or for my wife, or for my son, or for my aunt. I didn't alert the widow next door. I scared off all my faithful followers at the office and even the elevator operator and all his friends. My young friend was probably down at her farm that very day getting a stall ready for the vanquished warrior.

The winning horse's share of the purse was $1,350. That will buy a lot of oats. I'm back in business. I've got a horse that has now run a real good race and can be expected to win again. Since I love the horse business, I should be shouting hallelujah.

The trouble is that nobody is speaking to me—not my wife, not my son, not the neighbor lady, not the people at the office, not the elevator operator, probably not my friend either when she finds she cleaned that stall for naught.

I can't blame them. All we had to do was bet $2 to collect $164.40, or $20 to collect $1,644, or—Well, you figure it. I hurt too much from kicking myself.