"ARREST" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kipling Rudyard)

recognised a horse when he saw one, and could do more than fill a
cantle. He played a very fair game at billiards, and was a sound man
at the whist-table. Every one liked him; and nobody ever dreamed of
seeing him handcuffed on a station platform as a deserter. But this
sad thing happened.
He was going down from Dalhousie, at the end of his leave- riding
down. He had run his leave as fine as he dared, and wanted to come
down in a hurry.
{ARREST_OF_GOLIGHTLY ^paragraph 15}
It was fairly warm at Dalhousie, and, knowing what to expect
below, he descended in a new ®khakiЇ suit- tight fitting- of a
delicate olive-green; a peacock-blue tie, white collar, and a snowy
white ®solahЇ helmet. He prided himself on looking neat even when he
was riding post. He did look neat, and he was so deeply concerned
about his appearance before he started that he quite forgot to take
anything but some small change with him. He left all his notes at
the hotel. His servants had gone down the road before him, to be ready
in waiting at Pathankote with a change of gear. That was what he
called travelling in 'light marching-order.' He was proud of his
faculty of organisation- what we call ®bundobustЇ.
Twenty-two miles out of Dalhousie it began to rain- not a mere
hill-shower, but a good, tepid, monsoonish downpour. Golightly bustled
on, wishing that he had brought an umbrella. The dust on the roads
turned into mud, and the pony mired a good deal. So did Golightly's
®khakiЇ gaiters. But he kept on steadily and tried to think how
pleasant the coolth was.
His next pony was rather a brute at starting, and, Golightly's hands
being slippery with the rain, contrived to get rid of Golightly at a
corner. He chased the animal, caught it, and went ahead briskly. The
spill had not improved his clothes or his temper, and he had lost
one spur. He kept the other one employed. By the time that stage was
ended, the pony had had as much exercise as he wanted, and, in spite
of the rain, Golightly was sweating freely. At the end of another
miserable half-hour Golightly found the world disappear before his
eyes in clammy pulp. The rain had turned the pith of his huge and
snowy ®solah-topeeЇ into an evil-smelling dough, and it had closed
on his head like a half-opened mushroom. Also the green lining was
beginning to run.
Golightly did not say anything worth recording here. He tore off and
squeezed up as much of the brim as was in his eyes and ploughed on.
The back of the helmet was flapping on his neck and the sides stuck to
his ears, but the leather band and green lining kept things roughly
together, so that the hat did not actually melt away where it flapped.
Presently, the pulp and the green stuff made a sort of slimy
mildew which ran over Golightly in several directions- down his back
and bosom for choice. The ®khakiЇ colour ran too- it was really
shockingly bad dye- and sections of Golightly were brown, and
patches were violet, and contours were ochre, and streaks were
ruddy-red, and blotches were nearly white, according to the nature and
peculiarities of the dye. When he took out his handkerchief to wipe