Edgar Wallace

“ Just then Mr Colter turned with an inviting smile, and she joined him.
The great trainer had one amiable trait. He never had a bad horse.
They might not be good race-horses, they might be wholly incapable of winning; but he found some redeeming feature.
“Horses,” he explained to the girl, as they approached the first box, “are like human beings, except that they cannot talk; and as they cannot talk, they are constantly being misunderstood.” ”

“ Even here the racing man differs from every other kind of gambler, for it is pride which is at the root of his disease. Pride—primarily and so far as the owner is concerned—in the excellence of his beast; pride—with the little punter—in the excellence of his judgment.”
“Oh!” said Mr Callander.
He said no more whilst the rest of the horses were being inspected. They came at length to the last box, and Mr Colter lingered a little over his eulogium. There was a look of blank disappointment on the girl’s face as they turned away.
“But Grey Timothy!” she said, “we have not seen him.” ”

“ Mr Callander was saying, “is to take a firm step at once. If you put a man in his place at the very outset, he remains there. I feel I ought to tell Gladys this, because she may think I am a little brusque with this Bolter——”
“Colter,” she came out of her dreams to correct him.
“Ah, yes, Colter!” Mr Callander accepted the correction with a gracious smile. “Gladys will see as she gets older how necessary it is to check the familiarities of one’s inferiors—at the beginning. That is essential. ”

“ In fact, she by turns tortured and delighted herself with hopes half formed, fears half rejected, and speculations which went round in a circle, as girls have hoped and feared and speculated, since life was life. ”

“ He saddled many mighty horses, and won the Cambridgeshire and the Cesarewitch in the same year. His father was a trainer, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather trained for George IV. I never knew my father to do a dishonest thing, though he was born, so to speak, within an arm’s length of a race-horse, though his life was spent in the atmosphere of race-courses.”
Mr Callander was silent. ”

“ There was a quarter of an hour to wait before the train left, and seizing the moment when his relatives were engaged in buying papers for the journey—Mr Callander always made large literary purchases when he was travelling on any but his own line—he strolled off and made his way to the refreshment-room. Pinlow was waiting with the package.
“Don’t touch the box until you are ready to empty it,” he said. “You’ve got a dust-coat on your arm; let me slip it into your pocket.”
Horace opened the wide pocket of his Burberry, and Pinlow carefully inserted his ‘luck’. ”

“ Wait until he’s a year older, and he’ll show some of these bad horses the way to gallop.”
To the next box they went.
“Don’t go too near; he’s a little nervous.”
“In fact,” said Brian, “he’s a savage little beast.”
“Oh, no,” protested Colter, “nervous—and a race-winner. You must remember that, Mr Pallard, he’s a winner. A horse of great spirit——”
The horse of great spirit lashed out savagely with a hind leg, but the nimble trainer was out of reach.
“He’s not himself to-day,” explained Mr Colter. ”