"Where are his racing colours?" she demanded.
"Here!" cried Mr Bhosh, pulling forth the cream and sky-blue silken jacket and cap from his pockets, and, discarding his frock coat, he assumed the garbage of a jockey in the twinkle of a jiffy.
"I protest," then cried the undaunted Duchess, "against such cruelty to animals as racing an overblown mare so soon after she has galloped from London!"
"Your stricture is just, O humane and distinguished lady," responded the judge, who had conceived a violent attachment to Milky Way and her owner, "and I will willingly postpone the race for an hour or two until the horse has recovered her breeze."
"Quite unnecessary!" said Bindabun. "My mare is not such a weakling as you imagine, and will be as fit as a flea after she has imbibed one or two champagne bottles."
And his prediction was literally fulfilled,
