begad, I WILL help, if it's only to escape that tremendous
thrashing I deserved. Go along to your home, my sais-Policeman,
and change into decent kit, and I'll attack Mr. Youghal. Miss
Youghal, may I ask you to canter home and wait?

. . . . . . . . .

About seven minutes later, there was a wild hurroosh at the Club.
A sais, with a blanket and head-rope, was asking all the men he
knew: "For Heaven's sake lend me decent clothes!" As the men did
not recognize him, there were some peculiar scenes before
Strickland could get a hot bath, with soda in it, in one room, a
shirt here, a collar there, a pair of trousers elsewhere, and so
on. He galloped off, with half the Club wardrobe on his back, and
an utter stranger's pony under him, to the house of old Youghal.
The General, arrayed in purple and fine linen, was before him.
What the General had said Strickland never knew, but Youghal
received Strickland with moderate civility; and Mrs. Youghal,
touched by the devotion of the transformed Dulloo, was almost kind.
The General beamed, and chuckled, and Miss Youghal came in, and
almost before old Youghal knew where he was, the parental consent
had been wrenched out and Strickland had departed with Miss Youghal
to the Telegraph Office to wire for his kit. The final
embarrassment was when an utter stranger attacked him on the Mall
and asked for the stolen pony.

So, in the end, Strickland and Miss Youghal were married, on the
strict understanding that Strickland should drop his old ways, and
stick to Departmental routine, which pays best and leads to Simla.
Strickland was far too fond of his wife, just then, to break his