Sport: At Belmont

Doubling around a wisp of fence, into the stretch at Belmont came a flying clot of horses. People in the Grand Stand scrambed up on the backs of the ramped benches; nonchalance deserted the idlers in front of the Turf Club; they shouted a name that shook itself out like a battle-banner in the grey autumnal air: "Crusader." He—Man O'War's bravest son, best three-year old of the year—was in front. At one flank humped a dark witch-rabbity horse named Mars; at the other a little brown three-year old, William Ziegler's Espino. The bookies had...

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