They were speeding along in the train to the Dispersal Area, and, having moved heaven and earth to achieve demobilisation, were now absolutely miserable on nearing their goal.
"Like to pick your fancy for the Derby, Docker?" asked Jimmy Ferguson, proffering his daily paper with an air of acute cheerfulness.
"Not fer me," said Docker Morgan dismally; "I sworn off after the Balaam Stakes."
"I never 'eard tell of that race," said Jimmy.
"Well, it ain't one of the classic events. It were run over there." Docker jerked a thumb vaguely in the direction of France. "At a 'Concours Hippique,' which is posh fer 'Race Meeting.' Our orficers arranged it just afore our troops left the area, and nacherally fixed it fer the most awkward time fer me an' Nigger Rolf, being just between paydays. After payin' to go on the course we'd only got five francs left fer investment purposes. Nigger wanted to plunge right away, but I stopped 'im.
"'No,' says I; 'we don't know 'orses, but we does know mules, leastways as much as anyone does know mules. Let's scoop on this.'
"'An' I showed 'im the programme, which said:—
"'5.30.—THE BALAAM STAKES. For Government Mules ridden or driven by British N.C.O.'s and men during the War.'
"We walked round the course an' tumbled acrost Ping Brown, got up ong chevalier.
"'Aw-aw, Donoghue' says I, 'is it worth while backing you for a cool thou for the Balaam?'