"Look here, Clithero,"—he halted in that sudden and abrupt manner peculiar to him, and seized the young man by the arm—"we don't want a lot of palaver over this business. Treves will tell you that the colt's all right, and his word's as good as gospel. Settle on the nail and we'll cry quits at a thousand."
They reached the training stables at last, a low narrow building, lying a little back from the road, a building that formed three sides of a square and was approached by a large gate. Beyond it, and indeed, on either side of the road, was open level country. "A capital pitch for exercising," as Captain Armitage put it, pointing to a row of horses that were following one another in steady line over the down.
Castor had just returned from exercise, and they found him in his stable where he had been groomed by one of the boys. William Treves himself, an important personality, a man who had accumulated a considerable fortune, but who had no pride about him, and who was not ashamed of his humble origin, nor of the fact that he had never acquired a mastery of the king's English, discoursed volubly on the perfections of the colt. Apparently he already knew of Captain Armitage's desire to find a purchaser. The man gave Mostyn the impression of honesty.
As for Castor, little as Mostyn knew of horses he was impressed by the animal's appearance. Stripped of his clothes, he appeared a black colt of such magnificent proportions as to give one the idea that he was a three-year-old, instead of a nursery youngster.
After much talking, in which Mostyn took small part, the bargain was struck. In return for his cheque for a thousand pounds, Mostyn became the proprietor of "as fine an 'oss as the eye of man could look upon;" so William Treves put it.
"'E 'as a terrific turn of speed," the trainer continued, "and there isn't a three-year-old in this country that can 'old 'im at a mile at weight for age. I borrowed a couple of Colonel Turner's youngsters the other day to try 'im with, an' 'e left 'em fairly standing still, and the Colonel's 'ed man went 'ome with a wonderful tale about 'em, although 'e didn't know I'd put an extra five pound on Castor. Take my advice, if you're set on winnin' next year's Derby, don't pull 'im out too often this year. 'E's entered for the Eclipse at Sandown and the National Produce Breeders' Stakes, and you might let 'im run about four times just to give 'im a breather and get 'im used to racecourse crowds. No man livin' can say to-day wot will win the Derby next year, but if 'e trains on and puts on more bone, as I expect 'e will, 'e must stand a grand chance."
"You hear that? He'll win the Derby for you." Armitage smote his young friend heartily on the back as he spoke. "Take my word for it."
Mostyn was content with his purchase, proud of himself. There was but one hitch, and that occurred later in the morning when Armitage and Treves had moved away to inspect a new arrival at the stables, leaving Mostyn standing alone, a little awkwardly, in the great square yard.
A young man approached him, a tall, broad-shouldered youth, good-looking after a coarse and vulgar style. He was aggressively horsey in his attire, and wore a cap set at the back of his head, displaying sleek hair plastered down over his forehead. This, as Mostyn was subsequently to learn, was Jack Treves, the son of the trainer. He had a familiar way of speaking, and made use of slang which jarred at once upon Mostyn's ears.
He began by making a few casual remarks, then he jerked his head in the direction of his father and of Captain Armitage. "I hear you've bought Castor," he said. "A fine horse, sir."