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.