In the charity ward of a Los Angeles hospital last week lay a wrinkled little man with sparse grey hair combed straight back. The habitual frightened look of the sick poor dropped from his wizened face as newshawks approached. "Hell!" snapped the little man. "There's nothing wrong with me. Be out of here in a week." But reporters knew that, perhaps for the last time, they were seeing and hearing James Todhunter ("Tod") Sloan, great jockey, famed rounder, spender, one-time friend of millionaires and occasional toast of royalty.
Todhunter was not his...
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