Albert Edward sighed. "All right, then, if you will have it so.
William, old bean, I'm afraid I shall have to trouble you for a trifle
more out of the Mess Fund. _Noblesse oblige_, you know."

MacTavish and the Babe departed with the quest to prepare his mount
for the ordeal, while Albert Edward and I sought out Ferdinand and
Isabella, our water-cart pair. Isabella was fast asleep, curled
up like a cat and purring pleasantly, but Ferdinand was awake,
meditatively gnawing through the wood-work of his stall. With the
assistance of the line-guard we saddled and bridled him; but at the
stable door he dug his toes in. It was long past his racing hours, he
gave us to understand, and his union wouldn't permit it. He backed
all round the standings, treading on recumbent horses, tripping
over bails, knocking uprights flat and bringing acres of tin roofing
clattering down upon our heads, Isabella encouraging him with ringing
fanfares of applause.

At length we roused out the grooms and practically carried him to the
starting-point.

"You've been the devil of a time," William grumbled. "Cazenove's been
waiting for twenty minutes. See that light over there? That's where
MacTavish is. He's the winning-post. Keep straight down the mud-track
towards it and you'll be all right. Don't swing sideways or you'll get
bunkered. Form line. Come up the mule. Back, Cazenove, back! Steady.
Go!"

The rivals clapped heels to their steeds and were swallowed up in
the night. I looked at my watch, the hands pointed to 10.30 exactly.