A look round he did, from top to bottom of the house, as though he had thought of buying the lot, and it was only in a casual way that he strolled out to the stable and glanced at a mare in the stall.
“A rare fine horse that,” said the coachman.
“A vicious-looking brute?” replied Soft Sam; but a careful observer might have noted a look of satisfaction in his eyes as he returned to his trap, and to town.
That night when he met the young men his first words were, “I’ve found it for you at last, lads!”
“Found what?” they exclaimed together.
“The twenty thousand apiece you wanted—or have you changed your mind?”
The young men had not changed their minds, so drawing them into a private room, and carefully closing the door, he said—
“You must buy a mare that is to be sold to-morrow; it’s a Dr. Glenlivet’s horse, and there is a sale at his place. She is a thoroughbred from Hobartville; the doctor bought her for a sulky, like a fool, for she is a vicious brute, if ever I saw one, and smashed up his trap the first time of asking. Anyhow, she will go cheap, I think. She’s got a bad name hereabouts, and you must buy her.”
“But what for?”
“What for? Why, to win the Sydney Cup, or the Melbourne Cup for that matter. I have seen a worse-looking animal do it. She’s got the blood, and the cut of a clinker.”