Part 25 (1/2)
”I used to have one,” she said--”till last year: tremendously.”
”What's that?”
”To ride the National winner.”
She peeped to see if he was mocking. He was sober as a judge.
”You may yet.”
”Not now.”
”Why not?” he asked. ”Because it's against the National Hunt Rules?”
”Not that,” she said with scorn. ”I could get round their rotten rules if I wanted.”
”How?” he asked.
She glanced at him warily.
”Eighteen months ago a lad came into our stable who was rather like me.”
He laughed merrily.
”Good for you!” he cried. ”Now put your idea into practise.”
She shook her head.
”Why not?”
”I don't want to win the National now.”
”Don't you?”
She looked up into his face.
”I'm too old,” she said. ”I've got to put my hair up this winter.”
The confidence once made frightened her.
She broke into a canter, Heart of Oak striding at her side. The hill steepened against them just under the brow, and they came back into a walk.
”If I was my own master I should farm and breed horses,” said the young man.
She glanced at him keenly.
”Aren't you your own master?”
He shook his head.