e departed bagman. Well,
now, let's see the pony. That's what I've come down for."

I'm hanged if the brute didn't look more vulgar and wretched than ever
when he was brought out, and I began to feel that perhaps I was more
parts of a fool than I thought I was. Biddy stood looking at him there
with his under-lip stuck out.

"I think you've lost your money," he said. That was all, but the way he
said it made me feel conscious of the shortcomings of every hair in the
brute's ugly hide.

"Wait a bit," I said, "you haven't seen him going yet. I think he has
the heels of any pony in the place."

I got a boy on to him without any more ado, thinking to myself I was
going to astonish Biddy. "You just get out of his way, that's all," says
I, standing back to let him start.

If you'll believe it, he wouldn't budge a foot!--not an inch--no amount
of licking had any effect on him. He just humped his back, and tossed
his head and grunted--he must have had a skin as thick as three donkeys!
I got on to him myself and put the spurs in, and he went up on his hind
legs and nearly came back with me--that was all the good I got of that.

"Where's the grass-cutter," I shouted, jumping off him in about as great
a fury as I ever was in. "I suppose _he_ knows how to make this devil
go!"

"Grass-cutter went away last night, sahib. Me see him try to open stable
door and go away. Me see him no more."

I used pretty well all the bad language I knew in one blast. Biddy
began to walk away, laughin till I felt as if I could kick him.

"I'm going to have a front seat for this trotting match," he said,
stopping to get his wind. "Spectators along the route requested to
provide themselves with pitchforks and fireworks, I suppose, in case the
champion pony should show any of his engaging little temper. Never mind,
old man, I'll see you through this, there's no use in getting into a wax
about it. I'm going shares with you, the way we always do."

I can't say I responded graciously, I rather think I cursed him and
everything else in heaps. When he was gone I began to think of what
could be done.

"Get out the dog-cart," I said, as a last chance. "Perhaps he'll go in
harness."

We wheeled the cart up to him, got him harnessed to it, and in two
minutes that pony was walking, trotting, anything I wanted--can't
explain why--one of the mysteries of horseflesh. I drove him out through
the Cashmere Gate, passing Biddy on the way, and feeling a good