“So I fights my way through the surging mob to the counter.

“‘What odds for Red Liz in the five-thirty?’ says I.

“‘Je ne comprong pas,’ says the bet merchant, and before I could say another word the crowd swept me away.  I went back to Nigger.

“’Look ‘ere, Nigger,’ says I indignantly, ’I don’t like this way.  I likes to speckerlate with a bookie—­one with a wooden leg as can’t run for preference—­who tells you what odds ‘e’s going to give an’ doesn’t ‘ave to work it out in vulgar fractions afterwards.’

“’You ‘eart-breaking turnip!’ says Nigger; ‘give me the money.’

“‘E came back in a few minutes with a bit o’ card that looked like a pawn-ticket.

“‘That’s done,’ he says.  ‘If it wins we just takes this ticket an’ ’e pays out on it.  An’ now let’s go an’ see ’em come out.’

“There wus ten starters, and four changed their minds at the post.  Perishing Percy did some neat an’ effective steps that would ’ave gone better with music, an’ then stopped dead to listen for the applause.  Whips nor spurs weren’t allowed in the race, an’ peaceful persuasion don’t go far with a mule; but about five of ’em pursued the narrow and straight path that leads to the winning-post.  A big, raw-boned animal, named Gentle Maggot, floundering along with one foot in the franc side an’ tother in the enclosure, with two other feet that couldn’t be simultaneously located, was leading, an’ a chestnut named Coughdrop was a good second.  Red Liz was flapping her long ears an’ coming along very genteelly in the rear.  When they wus nearly level to us, Nigger whispers to me to get the cracker ready; but me hands were trembling so with excitement that I couldn’t light it.

“’Give ’em to me, you idjut!’ says Nigger, and he plunked one neatly by Red Liz’s ribs.  She started, and Nigger plants another one behind ’er.  Then she put ’er ’ead down and tore along like mad.  She passed three, got level with Coughdrop, passed ‘er, an’ thirty yards from home was neck with Gentle Maggot.  Both Jocks were whooping like mad, but just as everyone was swearing it was going to be a dead-heat, I thumped Nigger hard on the back an’ yelled out, ‘We’ve won!’

“Spruggy ‘ad jerked Red Liz’s head down just at the post, an’ she ’ad won by an ear!”

“Well, that was good enough, wasn’t it?” said Jimmy, as Docker finished his narrative with a mournful downward inflexion of voice.

“It would ’ave been,” replied Docker; “only Nigger ’ad put the ticket in ’is mouth while ‘e lighted the cracker, an’ when I thumped ’im on the back it startled ’im, an’—­’e swallered it.”

* * * * *

Songs of Simla.

IV.—­Mrs. Hawksbee.

  Hazards beset her social groove;
    Dilemmas rise—­she wriggles free;
  Landslip or earthquake cannot move
    Her imperturbability.