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CHAPTER IX
HOW ULICK BOUGHT THE SAINT

When Ulick Maynard returned to London after his brief visit to Eli Todd at Hazelwell, he went to his rooms in West Kensington. Here he had a comfortable flat, and lived as happily as possible under the circumstances. He missed his father's company; they were always together, and there had never been angry words between them until the night he left home. He sometimes wondered had he done right to leave Hazelwell in a sudden burst of anger, but he could not have remained under such a cloud of suspicion as his father enveloped him in.

If his father believed him guilty, what would the neighbours think? They would naturally one and all condemn him, so it was no doubt for the best he had gone away for a time.

London is the safest place in the world for a man to come to if he wishes to keep away from his friends and relations. It is a difficult matter to find anyone in the midst of the huge whirl of traffic and millions of people constantly pouring along its myriad thoroughfares.

Ulick avoided no one, nor did he shun any places he wished to visit, lest he might be recognised. He went about the same as any casual visitor to the city, and although he had been to London many times he had never become so well acquainted with it before.

At first time hung heavily on his hands. He missed all his country pursuits; the noise of the city jarred upon him, and he longed for the murmur of the stream, the sough of the wind amongst the trees, the rustle of the grass, the songs of birds, the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep and lambs, and, more than all, the merry neighing of the horses, and the joyous bark of Bersak. He felt cramped, cooped up, unable to breathe freely, and his whole being revolted at the scenes around him. For hours he roamed the vast city, watching the human wrecks, the flotsam and jetsam of mankind, being tossed about in the whirlpool of London life, and wondered what became of them all, where they housed at night, where they ended their days, how they died, and if any living soul mourned their departure.

Christmas came soon after his arrival in London. It was the most dismal one he ever spent, and he knew at Hazelwell there would be a corresponding gloom. His heart was hardened against his father then, and it was with some amount of equanimity that he thought the Squire also suffered alone and in silence. Christmas Eve he spent in the city, and watched the children returning home ladened with toys and a variety of parcels, their little arms clasped round their treasures, holding them tight, fearful lest some mishap should befall them. He saw the worn faces of hard-working parents glowing with pride and joy at the thought that out of their toil they had been able to save something for their little ones' pleasure. Late that night he saw sights that made him shudder, and as he passed woman after woman he was half afraid to look at them, so utterly abandoned were their faces.

As he crossed Trafalgar Square he heard a faint moan, and looking in the direction from whence it came he saw a tiny boy and girl huddled close together on a seat. It was a bitterly cold night, and London was clothed in a dirty, drizzling sleet. He crossed over to the children, and the boy, pulling the girl closer to him, looked at him with big, starving, staring eyes. He questioned them and found they had no home, no place wherein to lay their heads, and they meant to remain there for the night, unless the policeman moved them on, or took them away. He asked if they could find lodgings if he gave them the money, and the boy said he could, but looked incredulous at the prospect of such good fortune.

Ulick gave him ten shillings in silver, and when the lad saw it in his hand he cried for joy and roused his sister to look at the harvest. She inquired what the coins were, and he said shillings, and that they would last them for many days, until long after Christmas.

They showered thanks upon Ulick in their childish way, and then trudged across the Square with their arms round each other. They looked back as they reached the Strand, and he waved his hand to them. That night he slept badly, he wondered why there was so much misery in the world.

Time passed on, and early in the spring he commenced to think a little racing would be a pleasant recreation. He had no occasion to hide from his fellows, for he had done no wrong, and could hold his head high with the rest of them.

He went to Epsom and saw the City and Suburban, and while there he met his father's old trainer, Fred May, who was delighted to see him again. The Squire had not raced much during the past few years, generally selling his yearlings at Newmarket. Fred May had won him many good races, and trained Honeysuckle when she won her big event.

Ulick did not tell the trainer that he had left Hazelwell, he saw no necessity for it. They chatted about old times, and May made many inquiries about the Squire.

"Do you think he will ever race again?" asked May.

"I don't fancy he will, but I shall, and I should not mind speculating in something useful and handing it over to your care," replied Ulick.

"You really mean it?" said Fred May.

"Of course I do," laughed Ulick.

"Then I know where you can buy a youngster that will come out at the top of the tree, and if he is well-trained will make a grand three-year-old."

"A two-year-old now?" asked Ulick.

"Yes; he is by Father Confessor out of Hilda, and is known as the Saint. He has not run yet, but you can accept my word for it he is a flyer. He's at Epsom, at Lowland Lodge, and we can have a look at him after the races."

"Is the figure high? I do not wish to give a big price, and I would have rather bought a three or four-year-old," said Ulick.

"Buy the Saint if you can, you will never regret it," said the trainer.

After the races they walked down to Lowland Lodge and inspected the Saint.

"Why, he's a grey!" exclaimed Ulick, in a disappointed tone, as the door of the box was opened.

"And there's been many a good grey racehorse," replied Fred May. "Never mind the colour. Look him over, and fancy he is a bright bay, or brown, or a chestnut, or anything you like, only forget he's a grey, and then I'm sure you will not find a fault in him."

Ulick was no mean judge of blood horses, and, acting on the trainer's advice and ignoring the colour, he looked the Saint carefully over. He was rather anxious to find an excuse for declining to buy him, but he failed; he was unable to "fault" the colt in any way. He was well shaped all over. His legs were sound and clean, also his feet, well let down behind, tapering off like a greyhound; he had also a strong back and loins, and muscular thighs. There was plenty of him in front of the saddle, and his shoulders sloped well, his neck set on perfectly, and his head denoted courage and endurance. He seemed to be shaped for speed, and evidently possessed staying powers. His colour was not prepossessing, for he was not a good grey, and this was the only fault Ulick could find with him.

"Well!" exclaimed the trainer, with a smile, when he saw he had finished his inspection, "what do you think of him?"

"He is perfect in everything except his colour. I must say he is about as bad a colour as a racehorse well could be," replied Ulick.

"Granted that is so, his colour will not prevent him winning. Do you recollect Buchanan winning the Lincolnshire Handicap? No, of course not, what am I thinking of? You were a little chap then, I expect. Well, he was a funny looking grey, something after the style of the Saint, but he spread-eagled his field that day, and no mistake. The race was run in a snowstorm, and he faced it like a lion; it blew straight down the course, and it was no light thing for a horse to meet it in his teeth. He was a good grey, and I have known others; it is all prejudice, the colour is all right if the horse is good enough."

Ulick hesitated. He felt tempted to buy, for he knew Fred May's judgment was sound, and that he seldom made mistakes. He had not yet asked the price, perhaps it would be prohibitory – he almost hoped so.

The owner of the Saint was anxious to sell him for the same reason that Ulick hesitated about buying; he did not like his colour. On this account he asked a price that he thought would tempt a wavering purchaser.

Two hundred guineas was the price placed upon the Saint, and Ulick was forced to acknowledge it was reasonable. He had seen yearlings sold for five times the amount that had turned out utter failures, and here was a two-year-old that in all probability would make a clinker.

Fred May made no remark when he heard the price asked for the Saint, but he was determined if Ulick did not buy him he would.

"The figure is reasonable," said Ulick, "but I abominate the colour. That is the only reason I do not feel inclined to buy him."

"Then you will not have him?" asked the owner.

"No, thanks, and I am very much obliged to you for showing him me and placing him on offer," said Ulick.

The owner laughed, and said, "I am not surprised; I want to sell him because he is such a confoundedly bad colour."

"Have you quite made up your mind?" asked Fred May.

"Yes," replied Ulick.

"Then I'll take him at that figure," said Fred, much to their surprise. "I don't care twopence about his colour, there's the make and shape of a great horse there, and, grey or no grey, he'll win races."

"When will you take delivery?" asked the seller.

"He can return home with the horses I have at Epsom. They are at Tom Lucas's boxes. I'll send a lad round for him this evening," said May.

The bargain was completed; and Fred May invited Ulick to accompany him to the house where he was staying for the races.

Nothing more was said about the Saint until after dinner, when Fred May remarked that they might as well go and see if the ugly-coloured customer looked any better in his new box.

"I am afraid the change of boxes will not improve him," said Ulick, "but we can go and see."

The Saint was quite at home in his quarters, and the lad who brought him from Lowland Lodge said he was as quiet as an old sheep.

"That is another point in his favour," said May. "There will be no trouble with the starting machine in his case."

Ulick half wished he had bought him, more especially as the trainer seemed so satisfied with his bargain.

"Do you really think he will make a good horse?" asked Ulick, when they were in the house again.

"I am as certain of it as anyone can be over such ticklish things as racehorses. I never saw a much better shaped colt, and he's cheap enough at the price."

"I almost wish I had bought him," said Ulick.

"You can have him at the price I paid if you wish," said May.

"That would hardly be fair to you," replied Ulick. "I must give you something for your trouble. If you had not had the courage to buy him, despite his colour, I should not have the chance perhaps now."

"If you really want him, pay me the two hundred guineas for him, and let me train him," said May.

"That goes without saying," replied Ulick. "Of course, you will train him; I should not think of sending horses elsewhere."

"Then let us conclude the bargain."

"Very well. I will give you the two hundred guineas and leave him in your charge," replied Ulick, and in this way he became the owner of the Saint.

During the season the Saint fully endorsed the good opinion formed of him by Fred May. He won four races, in one of which he beat the best of his year, much to the delight of Ulick and the trainer.

The Saint went into winter quarters with an unbeaten record, and racing men thought it a pity he was not in any of the classical events, but they were determined to keep an eye upon him in handicaps.

Eli Todd was surprised when he learned that Mr. Lanark, the owner of the Saint, was none other than Ulick Maynard. The Squire would have been still more astounded had he been enlightened upon the subject.

It was Ulick's firm determination to find Janet Todd and induce her to return home. He was thoroughly tired of being away from Hazelwell, and he meant to force Janet, if necessary, to tell her father the truth, and then Eli could impart it to the Squire. He puzzled his brains to think what Eli meant by saying it would cause even more trouble than had already occurred if what he partly suspected turned out true.

Ulick, however, did not believe that Eli would withhold a confession from Janet from his father.

"He wants more than mere suspicion to act upon," said Ulick to himself, "and he shall have it if I can find Janet. I can deal with the man who allowed the blame to fall upon me when I discover his name, and I shall not spare him."

He often thought about Irene, and wondered how she and Warren Courtly got on together. He had never liked Warren, although he had nothing against him, except his constant attentions to Irene, and as a result his marriage with her. This, however, he knew was partially his own fault, although he doubted if he would ever have succeeded in winning her. He left the course clear for Warren, and therefore rendered it a comparatively easy task for him.

It never occurred to Ulick that Warren Courtly had anything to do with the disappearance of Janet Todd. Had it been suggested to him he would have laughed at the idea as absurd.

CHAPTER X
"THE CURIOSITY."

The Saint's first appearance as a three-year-old was at Kempton Park in the Pastures Handicap, a mile race on the Jubilee course. Having wintered well, as the trainer anticipated, he developed into a fine three-year-old, and in the early spring had a real good trial with some first-class handicap horses. Fred May was exceedingly anxious to place the colt well, and decided upon the Pastures Handicap because the distance was suitable, and the class of horses he was likely to meet in a five hundred pound race would not trouble him much.

Ulick agreed with him, and accordingly the Saint was entered.

Contrary to their expectations, there were some good horses in the race, including the winner of the Lincolnshire Handicap, and a four-year-old named Pinkerton, who had won the Jubilee Stakes the year before.

"We are in better company than I fancied we should be," said Fred May, when he glanced down the entries, "and I expect we shall get a biggish weight. We can strike him out if he is badly in."

The handicap, however, proved to be a good one, and although the Saint had eight stone, a big weight early in the year for a three-year-old, both Ulick and the trainer considered he had a chance. Pinkerton had eight stone twelve, and this horse they considered the most dangerous. There are few more enjoyable places than Kempton Park for racing in the spring, or, in fact, at any time of the year.

Although the Pastures Handicap was not the principal race of the day, it attracted the most attention, mainly on account of the Saint being a runner. His two-year-old performances placed him almost on a par with the Derby horses, and the favourite for that race would have been regarded as a certainty in the handicap with eight stone. It was generally acknowledged by the "clever division" that a four-year-old like Pinkerton ought to be able to give the Saint twelve pounds. Mulgar, Kit Cat, and Ringbell were also fair performers, and Kit Cat had been booked as a "rod in pickle" for some time past. As she had only seven stone, it was regarded as her "day out" – in other words, that the weight was right and she was going for the money.

The ring was kept busy when betting was opened on the Pastures Handicap. Four to one bar one, was first shouted, Pinkerton being the favourite, but these odds soon expanded until it was four to one on the field.

In the paddock the Saint was the great attraction. Everyone knew his two-year-old performances, and his remarkable colour always caused a mild sensation. He was "washy" enough as a two-year-old, but this spring he was almost white with a few "flea-bitten" spots on him.

"Looks as if he'd been powdered with black pepper and salt," was one characteristic remark, which certainly hit the mark.

Despite his colour, there was no mistaking the quality and fitness of the horse. He had been perfectly trained, hard and clean in his coat, no dandified polish on it, but a real glow of health.

"He'd make the Derby horses go if they ran against him now," said a well-known pressman.

"You are right, Harry. I fancy he'd start pretty near favourite. I think I shall back him," was the answer of a brother scribe.

The ladies crowded round "the curiosity," as the Saint was nicknamed, and a horse with a nickname is as popular as a rosy-cheeked schoolboy dubbed "apples." A nickname is a sure sign of something out of the common in man, boy, or horse.

"The curiosity" took the mobbing in good part, it troubled him not at all, although he condescendingly glanced round the ring from time to time, and, as Fred May saddled him, made playful snaps at his coat, and once succeeded in securing his hat.

Ben Sprig was to ride the Saint; a good jockey with a reputation for honesty. He was a miniature man, about thirty-five, capable of riding seven stone if necessary. His face was a study. Ben Sprig seldom smiled outwardly; he seemed to conceal all expressions of joy inside his small frame, and the only signs of pleasure experienced were sundry chuckles that sounded like the cracking of nuts. He spoke jerkily, shooting out his words like darts, and taking time to consider between each one. His complexion was bronze, and his eyes were small and brown. He had beautifully-shaped small hands and feet, of which he was very proud. He was dapper in his dress, and always clean and spruce. His humour was proverbial, and as he always had a solemn countenance it proved the more effective. A man who laughs at his own jokes is like an advertiser who stares at his own advertisements. There was none of the advertising agent about Ben Sprig.

"Where's Ben?" asked May, as the bell rang.

"I'll hunt him up," said Ulick, as he hurried off towards the jockey's room.

Ben Sprig was a thorn in the side of all clerks of the course. They invariably had to hurry him up, and in nine cases out of ten he was always the last to leave the paddock. He had a habit of sneaking his mount up the course when the majority of the spectators thought all the horses were at the post.

"Come along, Ben," said Ulick. "I never saw such a fellow, you are always last."

"Leaving the paddock," said Ben, solemnly.

Ulick laughed as he replied, "Not always in that position at the finish, I grant you."

Ben was walking slowly along, the olive green jacket adopted by Ulick being almost hidden beneath a coat which came down to the heels of his boots.

Ulick was striding along in front; the clerk of the course gesticulating furiously at Ben, who took no notice whatever of him.

"Hurry up," he said, as he rode up to the jockey. "You're always last, I wonder you are not fined every time for being late at the post."

Ben pointed solemnly to the clock, and said —

"They are always behind time when you are clerk of the course."

Ben was quickly in the saddle, and rode the Saint quietly out on to the course, which was cleared of the crowd. He sidled up to the rails, and slipped along past the stands. He was almost rounding the bend before the people recognised the colours.

"I thought the Saint had gone down long ago?" said one.

"That's a trick of Ben Sprig's, he generally goes up last," was the reply.

The noise at Tattersall's was deafening, and although Pinkerton was a slight favourite, the money had poured in for Kit Cat to such an extent that she was about the worst runner in many of the books.

The Saint stood at six to one, and Ulick had succeeded in obtaining a point longer for his money.

There was no delay at the post, Mr. Coventry sending them off in his usual style.

Kit Cat was quickly on her legs, and came along at a great pace, the golden stars on the black jacket of her rider glittering in the sunlight. Mulgar's white jacket also showed prominently, and after a gap came Pinkerton, and the olive green on the Saint.

From the start the pace was fast, and Kit Cat was making the most of her light weight. She had an easy style of going, and looked strong enough to carry a couple of stone more. Her owner had not waited in vain to get in with seven stone, and the money proved the mare could go when required. He was regarded, not without reason, as a very smart man. His name, Conrad Rush, had often figured against large winning accounts in Monday's settlement, and the ring had a wholesale dread of him. He never did anything underhand, but he possessed an amount of patience that fairly wore the handicappers out.

The golden stars leading in a mile race meant mischief, and already backers of Kit Cat were on good terms with themselves. The mare rounded the bend going in grand style, revelling in her light weight, and pulling hard. So far, it was a one-horse race, but creeping up on the rails not far behind were Pinkerton's blue jacket, the Saint, and Mulgar. To these four horses it soon became evident the race belonged; which would win?

Already the murmur of many voices could be heard in the rings. The sound gradually increased until it swelled into a roar, and louder and louder it became as the horses drew nearer.

Kit Cat still held a commanding lead, and it seemed almost impossible she could be caught.

"They don't win there," said Fred May to Ulick, "and the Saint has a rare turn of speed."

"It's a lot of ground to make up," he replied, "but I hope he'll do it. Pinkerton is running well, but Kit Cat has such a light weight she ought to last it out."

"I fancy Conrad Rush has overshot his mark this time. I have never seen the mare cover a mile. She may do it, but I doubt it. Look at her now – by Jove, she's done, I felt pretty sure of it."

Ulick saw the rider on Kit Cat "niggling" at her, and a second or two later he raised his whip as he heard the horses behind drawing nearer.

The bookmakers were jubilant and howled with delight.

Kit Cat responded to the call, but it was a mere flash in the pan.

Pinkerton was the first to tackle her on the outside, and as he drew level she swerved towards him and bored him out. This left an opening on the rails, which looked dangerous to squeeze through. Ben Sprig never flinched when he got a chance, however small he took it. He did so on this occasion. He was watching the two horses in front of him with keen eyes, and no sooner did Kit Cat swerve than he slid the Saint forward with one great effort and secured the lead.

It was a clever bit of jockeyship on the part of the rider, a marvellous run on the part of the horse, and the combined effort drew forth a hearty cheer.

The rider of Pinkerton had not expected this; he fancied the Saint was shut in on the rails, and would have to go round him on the outside. When he saw the olive green jacket on the other side of Kit Cat, it is needless to say he was surprised.

Pinkerton was not beaten, and as the pair cleared Kit Cat a tremendous race home ensued. It was a thrilling moment. Pinkerton had won over this course, and that was in his favour. The Saint had not run on it before. The four-year-old and the three-year-old struggled gamely on, with a difference of twelve pounds between them.

Ulick was excited; he had not seen the Saint in such a tight place before, and he hoped he would get out of it.

The horses were close to the winning post, a few more strides would decide it. They fought out every yard of the ground. Ben Sprig was a great finisher. He graduated in a good school, and he clung to the old tradition that a bit left for a finish is worth a hundred yards at any other part of the race.

His face was set, and his little eyes gleamed. His small hands gripped the reins firmly, his knees pressed the Saint's sides, and he helped the horse all he knew how. The olive jacket and the blue were level, the next few strides would do it; which would win?

A moment of suspense, a second or two of breathless silence, then a mighty shout.

"The Saint! The Saint!"

Ulick echoed the cry.

"The Saint wins!" he shouted.

Ben Sprig's immovable face showed no signs of the triumph within. He knew he had ridden one of his best races, he felt much of the success was due to his horsemanship, and he was pleased with himself. He slid past the judge's box about three parts of a length in front of Pinkerton, with Kit Cat a bad third.

The Saint's performance was acknowledged on all sides to be a great one, and "the curiosity" was mobbed as Ben rode him in amidst cheers. Mr. Lanark was not well known, but the Saint had made the olive green jacket popular.

"You rode a splendid race, Ben," said Ulick. "I think the best you ever rode on him."

Ben Sprig had ridden the Saint throughout his two-year-old career.

"I agree with you," jerked Ben. "I did ride a good race, the saints be praised."

"I expect you felt a bit uneasy when you squeezed through on the rails?" laughed Ulick.

"Not at all; I'm used to squeezing. I've been squeezing all my life to make both ends meet," said Ben.

"Then from all accounts you have squeezed to some purpose," said Ulick, for Ben Sprig was reported to be rich.

"I could lend some of 'em a trifle, I have no doubt," he replied, "but look at the time I have been at it."

They joined Fred May in the paddock, and looked at the Saint walking round.

"He's the rummiest coloured beggar I ever rode or saw," said Ben.

"Bar his colour, what do you think of him?" asked May.

"He's an out-and-out good one, and as game as they make 'em. If it came to a match between him and the Derby winner I would back him, provided I rode him."

"That's a pretty tall order," said Ulick.

"It would come off, you can take my word for it," he replied.

A friend came up to Ulick, and they walked away together. After some conversation as to the merits of the Saint's victory, he said —

"How are you going back to town – by train?"

"Yes," replied Ulick.

"I have to go on to Windsor. Drive with me to Feltham and go to Waterloo from there, unless you will come with me?"

Ulick thanked him, said he would drive to Feltham, but declined to go to Windsor.

After the races they took a carriage to Feltham, driving through Hanworth Park, and down the High Street.

They were chatting over racing matters, when his friend exclaimed —

"By Jove! there's a pretty girl – well dressed, too."

Ulick looked up and gave a start of surprise.

It was Janet Todd. She had not seen him, of that he felt sure. She was going down the street, and he resolved to leave his friend at the station, walk back, and meet her. It was a lucky chance that caused him to come this way back from the races.

"Do you know her?" asked his friend, smiling, as he saw him start.

"I fancy I do; I am almost sure of it. I think I'll walk back and meet her after I leave you," he replied.

"I don't blame you, my friend," he said, laughing. "Does she come from your part of the world?"

"I am almost sure of it," replied Ulick; "at any rate, I mean to find out."

"Good luck to you," laughed his friend, as he shook hands and went into the station.