“If you see an ugly old cove with no hair and a blue nose come over here for his number, just kick his foremost button, hard,” said Mr. Ross-Ellison to her as he gathered up the reins and, dodging a kick, prepared to mount.  This was wrong of him, for Zuleika had never suffered any harm at the hands of General Miltiades Murger, “’eavy-sterned amateur old men” he quoted in a vicious grumble.

A wild gallop round the race-course did something to soothe the ruffled spirit of Mr. Ross-Ellison and nothing to improve Zuleika’s appearance—­just before she entered the show-ring.

On returning, Mr. Ross-Ellison met the Notable Nut (Lieutenant Nottinger Nutt, an ornament of the Royal Horse Artillery), and they talked evil of Dignitaries and Institutions amounting to high treason if not blasphemy, while watching the class in progress, with young but gloomy eyes.

“I don’t care what anybody says,” observed the Notable Nut.  “You read the lists of prize-winners of all the bally horse-shows ever held here and you’ll find ’em all in strict and decorous order of owner’s rank.  ’Chargers.  First Prize—­Lieutenant-General White’s “Pink Eye”.  Second Prize—­Brigadier-General Black’s “Red Neck”.  Third Prize—­Colonel Brown’s “Ham Bone”.  Highly commended—­Major Green’s “Prairie Oyster”.  Nowhere at all—­Second-Lieutenant Blue’s “Cocktail,"’—­and worth all the rest put together.  I tell you I’ve seen horse after horse change hands after winning a First Prize as a General’s property and then win nothing at all as a common Officer’s or junior civilian’s, until bought again by a Big Pot.  Then it sweeps the board.  I don’t for one second dream of accusing Judges of favouritism or impropriety any kind, but I’m convinced that the glory of a brass-bound owner casts a halo about his horse that dazzles and blinds the average rough-rider, stud-groom and cavalry-sergeant, and don’t improve the eyesight of some of their betters, when judging.”

“You’re right, Nutty,” agreed Mr. Ross-Ellison.  “Look at that horse ‘Runaway’.  Last year it won the First Prize as a light-weight hunter, First Prize as a hack, and Highly Commended as a charger—­disqualified from a prize on account of having no mane.  It then belonged to a Colonel of Dragoons.  This year, with a mane and in, if possible, better condition, against practically the same horses, it wins nothing at all.  This year it belongs to a junior in the P.W.D. one notices.”

“Just what I say,” acquiesced the aggrieved Nut, whose rejected horse had been beaten by another which it had itself beaten (under different ownership) the previous year.  “Fact is, the judges should be absolutely ignorant as to who owns the horses.  They mean well enough, but to them it stands to reason that the most exalted Pots own the most exalted horses.  Besides, is it fair to ask a troop sergeant-major to order his own Colonel’s horse out of the ring,