Faster, faster, faster they went. Around the turn, along the back stretch, faster, faster, faster. Fifty thousand people rose to watch them finish, those eight swift-galloping horses, seven of America's best against the best of France. Into the home stretch they swept, brown and black bodies, flashing colored silks, rising, falling, tearing through their own mad dust-cloud.
Up to the grandstand, past the judges' stand they thundered, and it was seen that Sarazen led all the rest. A length and a half behind Sarazen, a nose ahead of brown Mad Play, came Epinard, runner-up a third time in the international races for...
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