There was a woman who was beautiful

There was a woman who was beautiful, who started with all the advantages, yet she had no luck. She married for love, and the love turned to dust. She had bonny children, yet she felt they had been thrust upon her, and she could not love them. They looked at her coldly, as if they were finding fault with her. And hurriedly she felt she must cover up some fault in herself. Yet what it was that she must cover up she never knew. Nevertheless, when her children were present, she always felt the centre of her heart go hard. This troubled her, and in her manner she was all the more gentle and anxious for her children, as if she loved them very much. Only she herself knew that at the centre of her heart was a hard little place that could not feel love, no, not for anybody. Everybody else said of her: "She is such a good mother. She adores her children." Only she herself, and her children themselves, knew it was not so. They read it in each other's eyes.

There were a boy and two little girls. They lived in a pleasant house, with a garden, and they had discreet servants, and felt themselves superior to anyone in the neighbourhood.

Although they lived in style, they felt always an anxiety in the house. There was never enough money. The mother had a small income, and the father had a small income, but not nearly enough for the social position which they had to keep up. The father went into town to some office. But though he had good prospects, these prospects never materialised. There was always the grinding sense of the shortage of money, though the style was always kept up.

At last the mother said: "I will see if I can't make something." But she did not know where to begin. She racked her brains, and tried this thing and the other, but could not find anything successful. The failure made deep lines come into her face. Her children were growing up, they would have to go to school. There must be more money, there must be more money. The father, who was always very handsome and expensive in his tastes, seemed as if he never would be able to do anything worth doing. And the mother, who had a great belief in herself, did not succeed any better, and her tastes were just as expensive.

And so the house came to be haunted by the unspoken phrase: There must be more money! There must be more money! The children could hear it all the time though nobody said it aloud. They heard it at Christmas, when the expensive and splendid toys filled the nursery. Behind the shining modern rocking-horse, behind the smart doll's house, a voice would start whispering: "There must be more money! There must be more money!" And the children would stop playing, to listen for a moment. They would look into each other's eyes, to see if they had all heard. And each one saw in the eyes of the other two that they too had heard. "There must be more money! There must be more money!"

It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse, and even the horse, bending his wooden, champing head, heard it. The big doll, sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram, could hear it quite plainly, and seemed to be smirking all the more self-consciously because of it. The foolish puppy, too, that took the place of the teddy-bear, he was looking so extraordinarily foolish for no other reason but that he heard the secret whisper all over the house: "There must be more money!"

Yet nobody ever said it aloud. The whisper was everywhere, and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: "We are breathing!" in spite of the fact that breath is coming and going all the time.

"Mother," said the boy Paul one day, "why don't we keep a car of our own? Why do we always use uncle's, or else a taxi?"

"Because we're the poor members of the family," said the mother.

"But why are we, mother?"

"Well - I suppose," she said slowly and bitterly, "it's because your father has no luck."

The boy was silent for some time.

"Is luck money, mother?" he asked, rather timidly.

"No, Paul. Not quite. It's what causes you to have money."

"Oh!" said Paul vaguely. "I thought when Uncle Oscar said filthy lucker, it meant money."

"Filthy lucre does mean money," said the mother. "But it's lucre, not luck."

"Oh!" said the boy. "Then what is luck, mother?"

"It's what causes you to have money. If you're lucky you have money. That's why it's better to be born lucky than rich. If you're rich, you may lose your money. But if you're lucky, you will always get more money."

"Oh! Will you? And is father not lucky?"

"Very unlucky, I should say," she said bitterly.

The boy watched her with unsure eyes.

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't know. Nobody ever knows why one person is lucky and another unlucky."

"Don't they? Nobody at all? Does nobody know?"

"Perhaps God. But He never tells."

"He ought to, then. And are'nt you lucky either, mother?"

"I can't be, it I married an unlucky husband."

"But by yourself, aren't you?"

"I used to think I was, before I married. Now I think I am very unlucky indeed."

"Why?"

"Well - never mind! Perhaps I'm not really," she said.

The child looked at her to see if she meant it. But he saw, by the lines of her mouth, that she was only trying to hide something from him.

"Well, anyhow," he said stoutly, "I'm a lucky person."

"Why?" said his mother, with a sudden laugh.

He stared at her. He didn't even know why he had said it.

"God told me," he asserted, brazening it out.

"I hope He did, dear!", she said, again with a laugh, but rather bitter.

"He did, mother!"

"Excellent!" said the mother, using one of her husband's exclamations.

The boy saw she did not believe him; or rather, that she paid no attention to his assertion. This angered him somewhere, and made him want to compel her attention.

He went off by himself, vaguely, in a childish way, seeking for the clue to 'luck'. Absorbed, taking no heed of other people, he went about with a sort of stealth, seeking inwardly for luck. He wanted luck, he wanted it, he wanted it. When the two girls were playing dolls in the nursery, he would sit on his big rocking-horse, charging madly into space, with a frenzy that made the little girls peer at him uneasily. Wildly the horse careered, the waving dark hair of the boy tossed, his eyes had a strange glare in them. The little girls dared not speak to him.

When he had ridden to the end of his mad little journey, he climbed down and stood in front of his rocking-horse, staring fixedly into its lowered face. Its red mouth was slightly open, its big eye was wide and glassy-bright.

"Now!" he would silently command the snorting steed. "Now take me to where there is luck! Now take me!"

And he would slash the horse on the neck with the little whip he had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck, if only he forced it. So he would mount again and start on his furious ride, hoping at last to get there.

"You'll break your horse, Paul!" said the nurse.

"He's always riding like that! I wish he'd leave off!" said his elder sister Joan.

But he only glared down on them in silence. Nurse gave him up. She could make nothing of him. Anyhow, he was growing beyond her.

One day his mother and his Uncle Oscar came in when he was on one of his furious rides. He did not speak to them.

"Hallo, you young jockey! Riding a winner?" said his uncle.

"Aren't you growing too big for a rocking-horse? You're not a very little boy any longer, you know," said his mother.

But Paul only gave a blue glare from his big, rather close-set eyes. He would speak to nobody when he was in full tilt. His mother watched him with an anxious expression on her face.

At last he suddenly stopped forcing his horse into the mechanical gallop and slid down.

"Well, I got there!" he announced fiercely, his blue eyes still flaring, and his sturdy long legs straddling apart.

"Where did you get to?" asked his mother.

"Where I wanted to go," he flared back at her.

"That's right, son!" said Uncle Oscar. "Don't you stop till you get there. What's the horse's name?"

"He doesn't have a name," said the boy.

"Get's on without all right?" asked the uncle.

"Well, he has different names. He was called Sansovino last week."

"Sansovino, eh? Won the Ascot. How did you know this name?"

"He always talks about horse-races with Bassett," said Joan.

The uncle was delighted to find that his small nephew was posted with all the racing news. Bassett, the young gardener, who had been wounded in the left foot in the war and had got his present job through Oscar Cresswell, whose batman he had been, was a perfect blade of the 'turf'. He lived in the racing events, and the small boy lived with him.

Oscar Cresswell got it all from Bassett.

"Master Paul comes and asks me, so I can't do more than tell him, sir," said Bassett, his face terribly serious, as if he were speaking of religious matters.

"And does he ever put anything on a horse he fancies?"

"Well - I don't want to give him away - he's a young sport, a fine sport, sir. Would you mind asking him himself? He sort of takes a pleasure in it, and perhaps he'd feel I was giving him away, sir, if you don't mind.

Bassett was serious as a church.

The uncle went back to his nephew and took him off for a ride in the car.

"Say, Paul, old man, do you ever put anything on a horse?" the uncle asked.

The boy watched the handsome man closely.

"Why, do you think I oughtn't to?" he parried.

"Not a bit of it! I thought perhaps you might give me a tip for the Lincoln."

The car sped on into the country, going down to Uncle Oscar's place in Hampshire.

"Honour bright?" said the nephew.

"Honour bright, son!" said the uncle.

"Well, then, Daffodil."

"Daffodil! I doubt it, sonny. What about Mirza?"

"I only know the winner," said the boy. "That's Daffodil."

"Daffodil, eh?"

There was a pause. Daffodil was an obscure horse comparatively.

"Uncle!"

"Yes, son?

ผลลัพธ์ (อังกฤษ) 2:

There was a woman who was beautiful, who started with all the advantages, yet she had no luck. She married for love, and the love turned to dust. She had bonny children, yet she felt they had been thrust upon her, and she could not love them. They looked at her coldly, as if they were finding fault with her. And hurriedly she felt she must cover up some fault in herself. Yet what it was that she must cover up she never knew. Nevertheless, when her children were present, she always felt the centre of her heart go hard. This troubled her, and in her manner she was all the more gentle and anxious for her children, as if she loved them very much. Only she herself knew that at the centre of her heart was a hard little place that could not feel love, no, not for anybody. Everybody else said of her: "She is such a good mother. She adores her children.". Only she herself, and her children themselves, knew it was not so. They read it in each Other's eyes. There were a Boy and Two Little girls. They lived in a pleasant House, with a Garden, and they had Discreet Servants, and felt themselves to anyone in the neighborhood Superior. Although they lived in style, they felt always an anxiety in the House. There was never enough money. The mother had a small income, and the father had a small income, but not nearly enough for the social position which they had to keep up. The father went into town to some office. But though he had good prospects, these prospects never materialised. There was always the Grinding of the shortage of Money Sense, though the style was always kept up. At last the Mother said: "I Will See if I Can not Make Something.". But she did not know where to begin. She racked her brains, and tried this thing and the other, but could not find anything successful. The failure made ​​deep lines come into her face. Her children were growing up, they would have to go to school. There must be more money, there must be more money. The father, who was always very handsome and expensive in his tastes, seemed as if he never would be able to do anything worth doing. And the Mother, Who had a Great belief in herself, did not succeed any better, and Her tastes were just as expensive. And so the House Came to be Haunted by the Unspoken phrase: There must be more Money! There must be more money! The children could hear it all the time though nobody said it aloud. They heard it at Christmas, when the expensive and splendid toys filled the nursery. Behind the shining modern rocking-horse, behind the smart doll's house, a voice would start whispering: "There must be more money! There must be more money!". And the children would stop playing, to listen for a moment. They would look into each other's eyes, to see if they had all heard. And each one saw in the eyes of the other two that they too had heard. "There must be more Money! There must be more Money!" It Came from the Whispering Springs Swaying of the still-rocking-Horse, and even the Horse, bending his wooden, champing Head, Heard it. The big doll, sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram, could hear it quite plainly, and seemed to be smirking all the more self-consciously because of it. The foolish Puppy, Too, that took the Place of the Teddy-Bear, He was Looking so Extraordinarily foolish for no Other Reason but that He Heard the Secret Whisper all over the House: "There must be more Money!" Yet nobody Ever said. it aloud. The whisper was everywhere, and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: "We are breathing!". in spite of the Fact that breath is Coming and going all the time. "Mother," said the Boy Paul one Day, "why do not we Keep a Car of our own? Why do we always use Uncle's, or Else a Taxi. ? " "Because we're the poor Members of the Family," said the Mother. "But why are we, Mother?" "Well - I suppose," Slowly and Bitterly She said, "it's because your Father has no Luck. " The Silent Boy was time for Some. "Is Luck Money, Mother?". He asked, rather Timidly. "No, Paul. Not quite. It's what causes You have to Money." "Oh!". said Paul vaguely. "I thought when Uncle Oscar said filthy Lucker, it meant Money." "Filthy Lucre Mean Money does," said the Mother. "But it's Lucre, not Luck." "Oh!". said the boy. "Then what is Luck, Mother?" "It's what causes You to have Money. If You're Lucky You have Money. That's why it's better to be Born Lucky than rich. If You're rich, You May Lose your Money. but if You're Lucky, You Will Get always more Money. " "Oh! Will You? And is not Father Lucky?" "Very unlucky, I should Say," She said Bitterly. The Boy with Unsure Her eyes watched. ". Why? " He asked. "I do not know. Nobody knows why one person is Ever Lucky and unlucky another." "Do not they? Nobody at all? Does nobody know?" "Perhaps God. But He tells Never." "He. ought to, then. And Are'nt either Lucky You, Mother? " "I Can not be, I Married an unlucky Husband." "But by Yourself, are not You?" "I Think I was used to,. I Married before. Now I Think I am very unlucky indeed. " "Why?" "Well - Never Mind! Perhaps I'm not Really," She said. The Child looked at to See Her if She meant it. But He Saw, by the Lines of Her Mouth, that She was only trying to hide from Him Something. "Well, anyhow," He said Stoutly, "I'm a Lucky person." "Why?". said his Mother, with a Sudden Laugh. He stared at Her. He did not even know why He had said it. "God told Me," He asserted, Brazening it out. "I Hope He did, dear!", She said, again with a Laugh, but rather Bitter. "He did. , Mother! " "Excellent!". the Mother said, using one of Her Husband's exclamations. She did not Believe The Boy Saw Him; or rather, that she paid no attention to his assertion. Somewhere angered this Him, and Made Him Want to compel Her Attention. He went off by himself, Vaguely, in a Childish Way, seeking for the clue to 'Luck'. Absorbed, taking no heed of other people, he went about with a sort of stealth, seeking inwardly for luck. He wanted luck, he wanted it, he wanted it. When the two girls were playing dolls in the nursery, he would sit on his big rocking-horse, charging madly into space, with a frenzy that made ​​the little girls peer at him uneasily. Wildly the horse careered, the waving dark hair of the boy tossed, his eyes had a strange glare in them. The Little girls dared not Speak to Him. When He had ridden to the End of his Mad Little Journey, He climbed down and stood in Front of his rocking-Horse, staring lowered its Fixedly Into Face. Slightly its Red Mouth was open, its Big Eye was Glassy-Wide and Bright. "Now!". he would silently command the snorting steed. "Now take Me to where there is Luck! Now take Me!" And He would Slash the Horse on the neck with the Little Whip He had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck, if only he forced it. He would so again and Mount Start on his furious ride, hoping at last to Get there. "You'll Break your Horse, Paul!". the nurse said. "He's always like that Riding! I wish He'd Leave off!". Elder said his Sister Joan. But He only glared down on them in Silence. Nurse gave him up. She could make nothing of him. Anyhow, He was Her Growing Beyond. One Day his Mother and his Uncle Oscar Came in when He was on one of his furious rides. He did not Speak to them. "Hallo, You Young Jockey! Riding a Winner?". his Uncle said. "Are not You Growing Too Big for a rocking-Horse? You're not a very Little Boy any Longer, You know," said his Mother. But Paul Gave only a blue Glare from his Big, rather close. -set eyes. He would speak to nobody when he was in full tilt. His Mother watched Him with an anxious Expression on Her Face. At last Suddenly He stopped forcing his Into the Mechanical Horse gallop and slid down. "Well, I got there!". He announced Fiercely, his blue eyes still Flaring, and his sturdy long legs straddling Apart. "Where did You Get to?". his Mother asked. "Where I Wanted to Go," He flared Back at Her. "That's Right, Son!". said Uncle Oscar. "You Do not Stop till You Get there. What's the Horse's name?" "He does not have a name," said the Boy. "Get's on all Without Right?". asked the Uncle. "Well, He has different names. He was Called Sansovino last Week." "Sansovino, EH? Won the Ascot. How did You know this name?" "He always talks About Horse-Races with Bassett," said. Joan. The Uncle was delighted to Find Small that his Nephew was posted with all the Racing News. Bassett, the young gardener, who had been wounded in the left foot in the war and had got his present job through Oscar Cresswell, whose batman he had been, was a perfect blade of the 'turf'. He lived in the Racing events, and the Small Boy lived with Him. Oscar Cresswell got it all from Bassett. "Master Paul comes and asks Me, so I Can not do more than tell Him, Sir," said Bassett, his Face. Terribly Serious, as if He were Speaking of religious Matters. "And He does anything Ever Put on a Horse He fancies?" "Well - I do not Want to give Him Away - He's a Young Sport, a Fine Sport, Sir. You would Mind himself asking Him? He sort of Takes a pleasure in it, and perhaps He'd Feel I was giving Him Away, Sir, if You do not Mind. Bassett was Serious as a Church. The Uncle went to his Back. Nephew and took Him off for a ride in the Car. "Say, Paul, Old Man, do You Ever Put anything on a Horse?" the Uncle asked. The Boy watched the handsome Man closely. "Why, do You Think I Oughtn. 'T to? "He parried. "Not a bit of it! I thought perhaps You Might give Me a Tip for the Lincoln. " The Car sped on Into the Country, going down to Uncle Oscar's Place in Hampshire. "Honour Bright?" said the Nephew. "Honour Bright, Son!" said the Uncle. . "Well, then, Daffodil." "Daffodil! I doubt it, sonny. Mirza About what? " "I only know the Winner," the Boy said. "That's Daffodil." "Daffodil, EH?" There was a Pause. Daffodil was an obscure comparatively Horse. "Uncle!" "Yes, Son?

ผลลัพธ์ (อังกฤษ) 3:

เขาจะพูดกับใคร เมื่อเขาอยู่ในเต็มเอียง แม่ของเขามองเขาด้วยสีหน้ากังวลบนใบหน้าของเธอ

ในที่สุดเขาก็เลิกบังคับม้าของเขาควบกลและเลื่อนลง

" ฉันมี " เขาประกาศอย่างดุเดือด ดวงตาสีฟ้าของเขายังคงวูบวาบ และแข็งแรงยาวขาคร่อมกัน

" คุณไปไหนมา ? " ถามแม่

" แล้วฉันก็อยากไป" เขา ก่อนกลับมาที่เธอ

" ใช่แล้ว ไอ้ลูกชาย ! กล่าวว่า " คุณลุงออสการ์ ไม่หยุดจนกว่าคุณจะได้รับมี อะไรคือชื่อของม้า ?

" เขาไม่มีชื่อ " เด็กชายว่า

" ได้โดยไม่ใช่มั้ย ? " ถามลุง

" เขามีชื่อที่แตกต่างกัน เขาถูกเรียกว่าซานโซวีโนสัปดาห์สุดท้าย . "

" ซานโซวีโน เอ๊ะ ชนะค่ะ แล้วคุณรู้จักชื่อนี้

" เขามักจะพูดเรื่องม้ากับ Bassett ,There was a woman who, was beautiful who started with all the advantages yet she, had no luck. She married, for love and. The love turned to dust. She had bonny children yet she, felt they had been thrust, upon her and she could not love them.? They looked at, her coldly as if they were finding fault with her. And hurriedly she felt she must cover up some fault in. Herself.Yet what it was that she must cover up she never knew. Nevertheless when her, children were present she always, felt the. Centre of her heart go hard. This troubled her and in, her manner she was all the more gentle and anxious for, her children. As if she loved them very much. Only she herself knew that at the centre of her heart was a hard little place that could. Not feel love no,,Not for anybody. Everybody else said of her: "She is such a good mother. She adores her children." Only, she herself and. Her, children themselves knew it was not so. They read it in each other 's eyes.

There were a boy and two little, girls. They lived in a pleasant house with a, garden and they, had discreet servants and felt, themselves superior to anyone in. The neighbourhood.

.Although they lived in style they felt, always an anxiety in the house. There was never enough money. The mother had a. Small income and the, father had a, small income but not nearly enough for the social position which they had to keep, up. The father went into town to some office. But though he had, good prospects these prospects never materialised.There was always the grinding sense of the shortage, of money though the style was always kept up.

At last the mother. Said: "I will see if I can 't make something." But she did not know where to begin. She racked, her brains and tried this. Thing and, the other but could not find anything successful. The failure made deep lines come into her face. Her children. Were, growing upThey would have to go to school. There must be more money there must, be more money. The father who was, always very handsome. And expensive in, his tastes seemed as if he never would be able to do anything worth doing. And the mother who had, a great. Belief in herself did not, succeed any better and her, tastes were just as expensive.

And so the house came to be haunted. By the unspoken phrase:There must be more money! There must be more money! The children could hear it all the time though nobody said it, aloud. They heard it at Christmas when the, expensive and splendid toys filled the nursery. Behind the shining modern rocking - horse,, Behind the smart doll 's house a voice, would start whispering: "There must be more money! There must be more money!"And the children would, stop playing to listen for a moment. They would look into each other 's eyes to see, if they had. All heard. And each one saw in the eyes of the other two that they too had heard. "There must be more money! There must. Be more money! "

It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse and even, the horse bending his,, ,, wooden champing head heard it.The, big doll sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram could hear, it quite plainly and seemed, to be smirking all. The more self-consciously because of it. The, foolish puppy too that took, the place of, the teddy-bear he was looking so. Extraordinarily foolish for no other reason but that he heard the secret whisper all over the house: "There must be more. Money! "

.Yet nobody ever said it aloud. The whisper, was everywhere and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: We. " Are breathing! "In spite of the fact that breath is coming and going all the time.

" Mother, "said the boy Paul, one day. "Why don 't we keep a car of our own? Why do we always use uncle' s or else, a taxi?"

"Because we 're the poor members of. The family, "said the mother.

."But why, are we mother?"

"Well - I suppose," she said slowly and bitterly, "it 's because your father has no luck."

The. Boy was silent for some time.

"Is, luck money mother?" he, asked rather timidly.

"No Paul. Not, quite. It 's what causes. You to have money. "

" Oh! "Said Paul vaguely." I thought when Uncle Oscar said filthy lucker it meant, money. "

" Filthy. Lucre does, mean money"She said bitterly.

The boy watched her with unsure eyes.

" Why? "He asked.

" I don 't know. Nobody ever knows why. One person is lucky and another unlucky. "

" Don 't they? Nobody at all? Does nobody know? "

" Perhaps God. But He never. Tells. "

" He, ought to then. And are 'nt you, lucky either mother? "

" I can' t be it I, married an unlucky husband. "

" But. By yourself aren ', t you? "

."Said the mother." But it ', s lucre not luck. "

" Oh! "Said the boy." Then what, is luck mother? "

" It' s what causes you. To have money. If you 're lucky you have money. That' s why it 's better to be born lucky than rich. If you' re rich you may,, Lose your money. But if you 're lucky you will, always get more money. "

" Oh! Will you? And is father not lucky? "

" Very. Unlucky I should say,,"I used to think I was before I, married. Now I think I am very unlucky indeed."

"Why?"

"Well - never mind! Perhaps. I 'm not really, "she said.

The child looked at her to see if she meant it. But he saw by the, lines of, her mouth that. She was only trying to hide something from him.

", Well anyhow," he said stoutly, "I 'm a lucky person."

"Why?" said his. Mother with a, sudden laugh.

.And made him want to compel her attention.

He went off, by himself vaguely in a, childish way seeking for, the clue to. 'luck'. Absorbed taking no, heed of, other people he went about with a sort, of stealth seeking inwardly for luck. He wanted. Luck he it, wanted, wanted he it. When the two girls were playing dolls in the nursery he would, sit on his, big rocking-horseCharging madly, into space with a frenzy that made the little girls peer at him uneasily. Wildly the, horse careered the. Waving dark hair of the, boy tossed his eyes had a strange glare in them. The little girls dared not speak to him.

When. He had ridden to the end of his mad little journey he climbed, down and stood in front of his rocking-horse staring fixedly,, Into its lowered face.Its red mouth was, slightly open its big eye was wide and glassy-bright.

"Now!" he would silently command the snorting. Steed. "Now take me to where there is luck! Now take me!"

And he would slash the horse on the neck with the little whip. He had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck if only, he forced it.So he would mount again and start on his, furious ride hoping at last to get there.

"You 'll break, your horse Paul!" said. The nurse.

"He 's always riding like that! I wish he' d leave off!" said his elder sister Joan.

But he only glared down. On them in silence. Nurse gave him up. She could make nothing of him. Anyhow he was, growing beyond her.

.He stared at her. He didn 't even know why he had said it.

"God told me," he asserted brazening it, out.

"I hope He. Did, the dear! ", she said again with, a laugh but rather, bitter.

" He, did mother! "

" Excellent! "Said, the mother using. One of her husband 's exclamations.

The boy saw she did not believe him; or rather that she, paid no attention to his, assertion. This angered, him somewhereHe would speak to nobody when he was in full tilt. His mother watched him with an anxious expression on her face.

At. Last he suddenly stopped forcing his horse into the mechanical gallop and slid down.

"Well I got, there!" he announced. Fiercely his blue, eyes still flaring and his, sturdy long legs straddling apart.

"Where did you get to?" asked his, mother.

"Where I wanted, to goOne day his mother and his Uncle Oscar came in when he was on one of his furious rides. He did not speak to them.

"Hallo,, You young jockey! Riding a winner? "Said his uncle.

" Aren 't you growing too big for a rocking-horse? You' re not a very. Little boy, any longer you know, "said his mother.

But Paul only gave a blue glare from his big rather close-set, eyes."He flared back at her.

" That ', s right son! "Said Uncle Oscar." Don' t you stop till you get there. What s the horse s. '' Name? "

" He doesn 't have a name, "said the boy.

" Get' s on without all right? "Asked the uncle.

" Well he has, different. Names. He was called Sansovino last week. "

" Sansovino eh? Won, the Ascot. How did you know this name? "

" He always talks. About horse-races, with BassettOscar Cresswell got it all from Bassett.

"Master Paul comes and, asks me so I can 't do more than tell him Sir" said,,, Bassett his face, terribly serious as if, he were speaking of religious matters.

"And does he ever put anything on a horse. He fancies? "

" Well - I don 't want to give him away - he' s a young sport a, fine, sport sir. Would you mind asking him. Himself?He sort of takes a pleasure in it and perhaps, he 'd feel I was giving, him away sir if you, don' t mind.

Bassett was serious. As a church.

The uncle went back to his nephew and took him off for a ride in the car.

"Say Paul old man,,, you do ever. Put anything on a horse? "The uncle asked.

The boy watched the handsome man closely.

" Why do you, think I oughtn 't to? ". He parried.

."Not a bit of it! I thought perhaps you might give me a tip for the Lincoln."

The car sped on into, the country going. Down to Uncle Oscar 's place in Hampshire.

"Honour bright?" said the nephew.

"Honour, bright son!" said the uncle.

"Well,, Then, the Daffodil. "

" Daffodil! I, doubt it sonny. What about Mirza? "

" I only know the winner, "said the boy." That 's Daffodil. "

", Daffodil eh?"

.There was a pause. Daffodil was an obscure horse comparatively.



"Uncle!" ", Yes son?