deal the
better for it, and as soon as I got on to the flat stretch of road
outside the gate I tried what the pony could do. He went even better
than I thought he could, very rough and uneven, of course, but still
promising. I brought him home, and had him put into training at once, as
carefully as if he was going for the Derby. I chose the course, took
the six-mile stretch of road from the Cashmere gate to Sufter Jung's
tomb, and drove him over it every day. It was a splendid course--level
as a table, and dead straight for the most part--and after a few days he
could do it in about forty minutes out and thirty-five back. People
began to talk then, especially as the pony's look and shape were
improving each day, and after a little time every one was planking his
money on one way or another--Biddy putting on a thousand on his own
account--still, I'm bound to say the odds were against the pony. The
whole of Delhi got into a state of excitement about it, natives and all,
and every day I got letters warning me to take care, as there might be
foul play. The stable the pony was in was a big one, and I had a wall
built across it, and put a man with a gun in the outer compartment. I
bought all his corn myself, in feeds at a time, going here, there, and
everywhere for it, never to the same place for two days together--I
thought it was better to be sure than sorry, and there's no trusting a
nigger.

The day of the match every soul in the place turned out, such crowds
that I could scarcely get the dog-cart through when I drove to the
Cashmere gate. I got down there, and was looking over the cart to see
that everything was right, when a little half-caste _keranie_, a sort
of low-class clerk, came up behind me and began talking to me in a
mysterious kind of way, in that vile _chi-chi_ accent one gets to hate
so awfully.

"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 mi