Once more , what manner of white boy art thou ? ' ` That shall be said in the letter , which is to Mahbub Ali , the horse-dealer in the Kashmir Serai , at Lahore . He is my friend . ' ` Wonder on wonder ! ' murmured the letter-writer , dipping a reed in the inkstand . ` To be written in Hindi ? ' ` Assuredly . To Mahbub Ali then . Begin ! I have come down with the old man as far as Umballa in the train . At Umballa I carried the news of the bay mare 's pedigree . ' After what he had seen in the garden , he was not going to write of white stallions . ` Slower a little . What has a bay mare to do ... Is it Mahbub Ali , the great dealer ? ' ` Who else ? I have been in his service . Take more ink . Again . As the order was , so I did it . We then went on foot towards Benares , but on the third day we found a certain regiment .
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