172 GARRYOWEN 



game pleasant enough, to judge from their sur- 

 roundings. They look very small, even when 

 viewed with the aid of a lens. 



Raising your eyes suddenly from those toy 

 houses, those trim and tiny lawns, those gardens 

 threaded with the scarlet of geraniums, you see 

 Sussex in one great sweep of country, just as by 

 the river you saw the past in the monolithic 

 Roman road. Woods upon woods, domes and 

 vales of foliage, and, to the south, the continuation 

 of the downs on which you are standing. 



Emmanuel Ibbetson had built the Bungalow 

 and stables in a moment of enthusiasm about 

 racing. It was certainly an ideal spot for training. 

 Just here the downs are level as heart of man could 

 wish. A great sweep of turf, a tableland where 

 nothing moves but the grazing sheep and the 

 shadow of the bird and cloud, extends from the 

 stables due south, ending in an out-crop of chalk 

 and a rise leading to the higher downs and the sea. 

 The higher downs are a shelter from the wind. 



There was stabhng for half a dozen horses; 

 everything about the place was of the best, from 

 the tiles to the roof, from the patent manger to 

 the patent latch of the doors. There was a patent 

 arrangement with a prong for conducting the hay 

 from the loft above to the manger below. This 

 nearly stabbed Garryowen in his suddenly up- 

 flung nose, and Moriarty, who had a contempt for 

 everything patent, including medicine, broke it — 

 but this in parenthesis. 



