Synopsis: Scott "takes the day off" and goes to bet on horses. 

JOHANNESBURG, South Africa, April 7th  – An American correspondent, who is down here covering the South African elections from the United States' viewpoint, phoned me up yesterday morning and suggested we play hookey for a day. 

"Let us desist from our arduous duties," said the American, who is a short, laconic Puckish character, "and go out to the pit known as Turffontein where the ponies are running this very day. In addition to being one of the world's foremost authorities on international affairs I happen to be a distinguished lover and handicapper of horseflesh." 

Instantly I developed a child-like faith in my friend's spurious credentials. This explains why there will be some obscure items, totalling perhaps 10 pounds in South African coin, in a couple of expense accounts. 

My friend took his loss stoically, I'll say that for him. "I don't bleed so much when it is office money," he observed bravely after the fourth race when a sluggish beast named Mahaluxmi charged under the wire a clean ninth. 

And yet if this should get back to the business office of his paper I want them to know that he was thinking of them constantly. 

After the seventh race when a brown gelding by the name of Molten Sun paused in mid-stretch to contemplate the folly being a gelding, the American winced and announced, "Five accountants in our office just felt a stab in their hearts." 

The essentials of horse racing are pretty much international, I guess. In Johannesburg, as at Hastings Park, the punter knows the agony of regret. Here, as there, you will see thousands of people turning to their companions after the unlikely result is official and remarking, "If I'd only..." It is said here in English, Afrikaan and 14 native dialects. 

But South African horse racing happens to be unique in many ways, apart from the fact that it can't be licked, and I feel it my duty to warn all horseplayers who may find their way to these parts. 

Selecting the average South African horse race is a staggering job for even a man of Mr. Lahey's qualifications since many of the races have as many as 26 of the creatures participating. 

There are always a great many touts about South African tracks and this explains why I am able to boast (and it is all I have left) that I have been touted on 20 horses in a single race; none of which, to keep the record strait, won. 

Moreover, the racing is done on deep green turf and, as everyone knows, this makes handicapping even more difficult. So my adviser said, anyway, as we retired to lick our wounds. 

The short races of five and six furlongs are conducted entirely on a straightaway so that without the aid of an interplanetary telescope you are not a witness to the early stages of the contest somewhere over in East Africa. 

Turffontein, which is operby the Transvaal Racing Club, is the closest track to Johannesburg and from the small open grandstand the punter has a most symbolic view. 

Across the infield may be seen the great pyramids of ore which have been brought up from the mines to be sifted for gold. Beyond them is the impressive skyline of the city that was built on the stuff. And here are you, full circle, in the place where it's taken away. 

This is done in two ways. The first is the track bookmaker, who operates from small stands on the apron in front of the grandstand, almost always a man whose proud Hebraic name is emblazoned above him – Hyman Fine, Wolfe Finkelsten and Issy Bernstein were some I noticed. The bookie pays at the odds he offers when he sells you a ticket. 

Secondly, there is the pari-mutuel, which accepts bets as low as ten shillings (about $1.50) or as high as you care to go and pays off at the final odds reckoned by an electric tote machine. Either way the result in my friend's case was the same, namely disastrous. 

I can only add, for the peace of mind of the accountants in my own business office, that at the eighth and final race I wearied of the American's clouded crystal ball and picked my own, which paid a cool 20 pounds and brought me even for the day. 

But, of course, I'm lying.