"Not yet," said I. "He's wound up in the Switch Line wire entanglements now. The Babe and the wrecking gang are busy chopping him out. There's still time."
"Then drag Isabella out in front of this brute," said he. "Quick, man, quick!"
At 11.43, by means of a brimming nose-bag, I had enticed Isabella forth, and the procession started in the following order: First, myself, dragging Isabella and dangling the bait. Secondly, Isabella. Thirdly, the racers, Ferdinand and Albert Edward, the latter belting Isabella with a surcingle whenever she faltered. Lastly, the line-guard, speeding Ferdinand with a doubled stirrup-leather. We toiled down the mud. track at an average velocity of .25 m.p.h., halting occasionally for Isabella to feed and the line-guard to rest his arm. I have seen faster things in my day.
Then, just as we were arriving at our journey's end we collided with another procession. It was the wrecking gang, laden with the implements of their trade (shovels, picks, wire-cutters, ropes, planks, waggon-jacks, etc.), and escorting in their midst Mr. Cazenove and his battered racehorse. Both competitors immediately claimed the victory:—
"Beaten you this time, Albert Edward, old man."... "On the contrary, Charles, old chap, I won hands down."... "But, my good fellow, I've been here for hours."... "My dear old thing, I've been here all night!"... "Do be reasonable."... "Don't be absurd."
"Oh, dry up, you two, and leave it to the winning-post to decide," said William.
"By the way, where is the winning-post?"
"The winning-post," we echoed. "Yes, where is he?"
"Begging your pardon, Sir," came the voice of the Mess orderly, "but if you was referring to Mister MacTavish he went home to bed half-an-hour ago."
PATLANDER.