“Look here, Sar,” he said, “you take my car, Sar; it built for racing.  I do much trot-racing myself”—­mentioning his name—­“and you go much faster my car, Sar.”

I trusted nobody in those days, and thought a good deal of myself accordingly.  I hadn’t found out that it takes a much smarter man to know how to trust a few.

“Thank you,” I said, “I think I’ll keep my own, the pony’s accustomed to it.”

I think he understood quite well what I felt, but he didn’t show any resentment.

“Well, Sar, you no trust my car, you let me see your wheels?”

“Certainly,” I said “you may look at them,” determined in my own mind I should keep my eye on him while he did.

He got out a machine for propping the axle, and lifted the wheel off the ground.

“Make the wheel go round,” he said.

I didn’t like it much, but I gave the wheel a turn.  He looked at it till it stopped.

“You lose match if you take that car,” he said, “you take my car, Sar.”

“What do you mean?” said I, pretty sharply.

“Look here,” he said, setting the wheel going again.  “You see here, Sar, it die, all in a minute, it jerk, doesn’t die smooth.  You see my wheel, Sar.”

He put the lift under his own, and started the wheel revolving.  It took about three times as long to die as mine, going steady and silent and stopping imperceptibly, not so much as a tremor in it.

“Now, Sar!” he said, “you see I speak true, Sar.  I back you two hundred rupee, if I lose I’m ruin, and I beg you, Sar, take my car! can no win with yours, mine match car.”

“All right!” said I with a sort of impulse, “I’ll take it.”  And so I did.

I had to start just under the arch of the Cashmere gate, by a pistol shot, fired from overhead.  I didn’t quite care for the look of the pony’s ears while I was waiting for it—­the crowd had frightened him a bit I think.  By Jove, when the bang came he reared straight up, dropped down again and stuck his forelegs out, reared again when I gave him the whip, every second of course telling against me.

“Here, let me help you,” shouted Biddy, jumping into the trap.  His weight settled the business, down came the pony, and we went away like blazes.

The three umpires rode with us, one each side and one behind, at least that was the way at first, but I found the clattering of their hoofs made it next to impossible to hold the pony.  I got them to keep back, and after that he went fairly steadily, but it was anxious work.  The noise and excitement had told on him a lot, he had a tendency to break during all that six miles out, and he was in a lather before we got to Sufter Jung’s tomb.  There were a lot of people waiting for me out there, some ladies on horseback, too, and there was a coffee-shop going, with drinks of all kinds.  As I got near they began to call out, “You’re done, Paddy, thirty-four minutes gone already, you haven’t the ghost of a chance.  Come and have a drink and look pleasant over it.”