A native officer came out of the throng and caressed “The Padre”.
“Mind you win, Ensign Sahib,” laughed Subadar Pir Baksh, “for the honour of the corps.”
“I will try my best, Subadar,” Ted assured him; and Pir Baksh showed his even white teeth as he playfully threatened the ensign should he lose.
“Now, old boy,” was Ethel’s greeting, “never speak to me again if our ‘Padre’ loses—he’s the horse of the regiment, you must remember. Whatever you do don’t let that horrid Guide man win. An upstart corps like that, recruited from Thugs and Dacoits, must never get the better of the old-established 193rd.”
“‘Horrid Guide man’ indeed!” laughed Jim. “Spencer’s one of the best men I know; and remember, my lady, that you will be a Guide woman very soon.”
Changing the subject he added: “You’re only fifth favourite, Ted.”
“Didn’t know I was so high as that. Who’s favourite?”
“The ‘horrible Guide’ horse and the ‘Duck’s’ mount, ‘Flying Fox’, are equal, the Ahmednuggur comes next, and you are fifth.”
“Never mind, Ted,” said Ethel encouragingly. “‘The Padre’ was second favourite when it was thought that Markham would be up, and you’re lighter than he.”
“But that won’t make any difference; I shall have to carry the extra weight.”