Pneumonia brought the College's leading horseplayer to Stillman Infirmary yesterday, but the Suffolk mutuel machines saw no bet lack.
Elat on his back with a fever of 104, the local depester gasped a call for a visit from his system-playing sidekick, who showed up well before post time with a notebook-full of racing forms and large, coarse bills.
After an hour of heroic concentration, the sick man muttered eight terse commands. The emissary tipped his eyeshade to the nurse, and was off to nurse his tips at the Downs.
Doctors were aghast at an eight-degree jump last night as the patient sat with a thermometer between blanched lips and a Daily Record (Payoff Edition) clutched in hand.
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