Some of the ponies are well groomed, and fit, others thin and badly
cared for. Some have long unkempt manes and tails, others are
bedecked with beads and shells and long scarlet tassels. Saddle
cloths of brilliant hue are numerous, while the riders are a
curious and a motley assembly. Some bare-foot, some booted and
spurred (and a spur is a spur with an Arab, something after the
implement mother marks the pastry with). Others are in long flowing
robes with the burnous and kafeia of the Bedouin flying in the
wind, some with knives, some with swords, some with pistols, and
some with sticks, and lastly two are dressed like real jockeys, and
they know it, and show it too! Just now there is a little of chaos
as half the competitors are evidently of the opinion that they
should go round the paddock in one direction, while the other half
wishes to go the reverse. Wherefore there is loud shouting and much
gesticulating, with many 'Waheds' and 'Achmeds' and 'Macknoons'.
"ALL THE WORLD AND HIS WIFE THERE.
"But there, the bell goes, and the starters begin to file out of
the gate as they struggle out of the seething mass.
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