"
"Yes, but nothing short of that. Even then old Ben would make a race of
it. A nailing good horse once. A little brown horse about fifteen two, as
compact as a leg of Welsh mutton.... But there's no use in thinking of
him. They've been trying for years to train him. Didn't they used to get
the flesh off him in a Turkish bath? That was Fulton's notion. He used to
say that it didn't matter 'ow you got the flesh off so long as you got it
off. Every pound of flesh off the lungs is so much wind, he used to say.
But the Turkish bath trained horses came to the post limp as old rags. If
a 'orse 'asn't the legs you can't train him. Every pound of flesh yer take
off must put a pound 'o 'ealth on. They'll do no good with old Ben, unless
they've found out a way of growing on him a pair of new forelegs. The old
ones won't do for my money."
"But do you think that Courtney will take the same view of his
capabilities as you do--do you think he'll let him off as easily as you
have?"
"He can't give him much more.... The 'orse is bound to get in at seven
stone, rather under than over."
"I'm glad to 'ear yer say so, for I know you've a headpiece, and 'as all
the running in there." Stack tapped his forehead. "Now, I'd like to ask
you if there's any three-year-olds that would be likely to interfere with
him?"
"Derby and Leger winners will get from eight stone to eight stone ten, and
three-year-olds ain't no good over the Cesarewitch course with more than
eight on their backs.
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