Newmarket Two Thousand Guineas, the Epsom Spring meeting and the Grand National. Fact! In May that tiger was worth a win and a place in the Kempton Jubilee Stakes; and as for June,—why in June he wouldn't have parted with that tiger for a dead cert for the Derby, Oaks, and Ascot. He wouldn't—not he. In July that beast was worth a Good Thing in the Eclipse Stakes and at Goodwood. When September came round, Lucy was worth a well-backed outsider in the St. Leger, while as for October,—in that month the kind animal was as good as top-hole luck at Gatwick, and a genuine straight-from-the-stable for the Caesarewitch and the Cambridgeshire Stakes. Believe me or believe me not. And during the rest of the year, that headman would sooner have lost his wife than Lucy Gray. A lot sooner. . . . Same with all the other villagers. They simply loved the Virtuous Lucy and hoped he might live for ever. He really was worth thousands of rupees a year to the Simple Villagers of Soni."
"Didn't he never eat none of them?" inquired the Vice. "Not even the fat little boys?"
