or the General’s either?  They ought not to get subordinates in at all.  Army Veterinary Colonels from other Divisions are the sort of chaps you want, and some really knowledgeable unofficial civilians—­and, as I say, to be in complete ignorance as to ownership.  No man to ride his own horse—­and none of these bally numbers to prevent the Judges from thinking a General’s horse belongs to a common man, and from getting the notion that a subaltern’s horse belongs to a General.”

“Yes” mused Mr. Ross-Ellison, “and another thing.  If you want to get a horse a win or a place in the Ladies’ Hack class—­get a pretty girl to ride it.  They go by the riders’ faces and figures entirely....  Hullo!  Class XIX wanted.  That’s me and Zuleika.  Come and tie the labels on my arms like a good dog.”

“Right O. But you haven’t the ghost of a little look in,” opined the Nut.  “Old Murger has got a real corking English hunter in.  A General will win as usual—­but he’ll win with by far the best horse, for once in the history of horse-shows.”

Dismounting and handing their reins to the syces, the two young gentlemen strolled over to the table where presided he of the pimples and number-labels.

A burly Sikh was pointing to the name of General Miltiades Murger and asking for the number printed thereagainst.

The youth handed Rissaldar-Major Shere Singh two labels each bearing the number 99.  These, the gallant Native Officer proceeded to tie upon his arms—­putting them upside down, as is the custom of the native of India when dealing with anything in any wise reversible.

Mr. Ross-Ellison approached the table, showed his name on the programme and asked for his number—­66.

“Tie these on,” said he returning to his friend.  “By Jove—­there’s old Murger’s horse,” he added—­“what a magnificent animal!”

Looking up, the Nut saw Rissaldar-Major Shere Singh mounting the beautiful English hunter—­and also saw that he bore the number 66.  Therefore the labels handed to him were obviously 99, and as 99 he tied on the 66 of Mr. Ross-Ellison—­who observed the fact.

“I am afraid I’m all Pathan at this moment,” silently remarked he unto his soul, and smiled an ugly smile.

“Not much good my entering Zuleika against that mare,” he said aloud.  “It must have cost just about ten times what I paid for her.  Never mind though!  We’ll show up—­for the credit of civilians,” and he rode into the ring—­where a score of horses solemnly walked round and round the Judges and in front of the Grand Stand....

General Murger brought Mrs. Dearman a cup of tea, and, having placed his topi[49] in his chair, went, for a brandy-and-soda and cheroot, to the bar behind the rows of seats.

  [49] Sun-helmet.

On his return he beheld his superb and expensive hunter behaving superbly and expensively in the expert hands of Rissaldar-Major Shere Singh.