He feasted his eyes upon it.
Suddenly a voice, a voice he disliked intensely, the voice of Mr. Dearman croaked fiendishly in his ear: "Why, General, they've got your horse numbered wrongly!"
General Miltiades Murger looked again. Upon the arm of Rissaldar-Major
Shere Singh was the number 66.
Opening his programme with trembling fingers he found his name, his horse's name, and number 99!
He rose to his feet, stammering and gesticulating. As he did so the words:—
"Take out number 66," were distinctly borne to the ears of the serried ranks of the fashionable in the Grand Stand. Certain military-looking persons at the back abandoned all dignity and fell upon each other's necks, poured great libations, danced, called upon their gods, or fell prostrate upon settees.
Others, seated among the ladies, looked into their bats as though in church.
"Has Ross-Ellison faked it?" ran from mouth to mouth, and, "He'll be hung for this".
A minute or so later the Secretary approached the Grand Stand and announced in stentorian tones:
"First Prize—General Murger's Darling, Number 99".