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.