Two more strides and the riders are level, and amid a roar which breaks out on every side, and which the boy only hears as a distant murmur, “The Padre” wins by a neck.
CHAPTER III
Ted does not think much of the Guides
Quite dazed and half-unconscious Ted was lifted from the saddle. As in a dream he heard the prolonged applause of his mess-mates and the shrill yells of delight raised by the swarthy men of the 193rd. Lieutenant Spencer held out his hand to the victor and looked him approvingly in the face.
“You young scoundrel!” he cheerfully exclaimed, “I congratulate you. You deserved to win.”
Ted heartily returned the handshake of his brother’s friend, and muttered something to the effect that the horse should be given all the credit, not the rider. So great a triumph he had never before known, yet he bore his honours modestly. Colonel Woodburn, Major Munro, Captain Markham, and other mess-mates were quickly on the spot, patting and praising both horse and rider. The thumps on the back given to Ted were rather more vigorous than those awarded to “The Padre”, and the ensign had little breath wherewith to make suitable reply to the shower of congratulations. Pir Baksh, the subadar, waved his sword wildly and led the sepoys in their volleys of deafening applause.
There was one jarring note. A brother ensign who was strolling moodily past the group moved a step nearer to Ted and snarled in an undertone:
“I’ve dropped two hundred rupees to-day, thanks to you.”
It was Harry Tynan—a tall, handsome lad with dark hair inclined to curl, and big brown eyes; the type of boy who from childhood is petted and spoilt by mothers and aunts. Unless such an one possesses an exceptionally strong character the result is fatal, and Tynan showed a weak mouth and chin.