rything is cleaned off at once;
and whenever the sand's tainted it's renewed. There's quite enough sand
you see hereabouts. Of course we can't keep their coats so good as in
other stables, by reason of the rolling; but we can keep 'em pretty
clean."

To the eye of one who knew less than nothing about horse-flesh, this
immaculate purity was very striking, and quite as impressive was the
condition of the horses, which was English--quite English. Naturally,
none of them were in any sort of training beyond daily exercise, but
they were fit and in such thoroughly good fettle. Many of them were out
on the various tracks, and many were coming in. Roughly, two hundred go
out of a morning, and, it is to be feared, learn from the heavy going of
the Jodhpur courses how to hang in their stride. This is a matter for
those who know, but it struck the Englishman that a good deal of the
unsatisfactory performances of the Jodhpur stables might be accounted
for by their having lost their clean stride on the sand, and having to
pick it up gradually on the less holding down-country
courses--unfortunately when they were _not_ doing training gallops, but
the real thing.

It was pleasant to sit down and watch the rush of the horses through the
great opening--gates are not affected--going on to the countryside where
they take the air. Here a boisterous, unschooled Arab shot out across
the road and cried, "Ha! Ha!" in the scriptural manner, before trying
to rid himself of the grinning black imp on his back. Behind him a
Cabuli--surely all Cabulis must have been born with Pelhams in their
mouths--bored sulkily across the road, or threw himself across the path
of a tall, mild-eyed Kurnal-bred youngster, whose cocked ears and
swinging head showed that, though he was so sedate, he was thoroughly
taking in his surroundings, and would very much like to know if there
were anybody better than himself on the course that morning. Impetuous
as a schoolboy and irresponsible as a monkey, one of the Prince's polo
ponies, not above racing in his own set, would answer the question by
rioting past the pupil of Parrott, the monogram on his bodycloth
flapping free in the wind, and his head and hogged tail in the elements.
The youngster would swing himself round, and polka-mazurka for a few
paces, till his attention would be caught by some dainty Child of the
Desert, fresh from the Bombay stables, sweating at every sound, backing
and filling like a rudderless sh