Grand Prix

All Paris was there, in the newest hats, wide-brimmed, made of straw, flowers and ribbon, or woven of felt and silk in crossword puzzle patterns; President Doumergue wore his shiny topper; 250,000 people packed the enclosure; Britishers, brought to the scene by a fleet of ten special airplanes, looked for a safe bet; Americans wandered about, each followed by a pickpocket. All Paris was thinking about two gray horses, one of which was pretty sure to take the Grand Prix--the swift Chubasco, the staunch Belfonds. Steve Donoghue, famed British jockey, up on Aquatinte, was liked next best.

All Paris saw the horses, after the usual momentary tangle, clear away from the web; they reached the first turn. Suddenly, out of the pack, reared a riderless steed, flat-eared, plunging; many women screamed shrilly; what had happened became, in a moment, obvious. Four horses had gone down. Four small men in silks lay twisting on the turf while the field swept past them, led home by Baron James A. De Rothschild's La Reine Lumiere, 120 to 1, the first filly to win the Grand Prix since 1902. One of the three men was Stephen Donoghue. He had broken his shoulder, escaped death by the width of a horseshoe.