no Mr. Metal. 



Tom Tootler. " Have at him, old man ! By Jove, it is a 

 find for certain this time ! " The ancient Ravager, whose 

 opinion is thoroughly to be depended upon, gives vent to 

 his feelings in one prolonged note, which in a second is 

 taken up by the eager pack. 



^^ There's a ^coal-box' for you," exclaims our cheery 

 but slangy young friend, Charles Wildoats, just arrived, 

 late as usual, with a grin of delight, as he chucks his 

 cigar away, and gives his mare a hearty slap on her 

 glossy neck, which the mare, who is trembling with 

 excitement, acknowledges with a playful bite at the toe of 

 his highly-varnished boot. Surely that's a halloa ! Yes, 

 there it is again ! An unmistakable " Tally ho " this 

 time comes wafted on the breeze to the ears of our sports- 

 men in the ride. Lord Daisyfield comes crashing and 

 smashing through the hazel stems in a desperate hurry, 

 and gallops down the ride as hard as ever his horse 

 can lay legs to the ground. There is a rush of 

 cavalry after him, headed by Charlie Wildoats, who, 

 as he says, always likes to be "all there when the 

 bell rings," and lastly comes our friend in the black 

 coat and steeplechasy boots, whose vicious-looking 

 thoroughbred had stopped to kick for a minute or two, 

 but who now goes along smoothly enough ; his rider 

 with his hands well down and his feet stuck out in true 

 Newmarket style. Mr. Metal, for that is the name of our 

 black-coated friend, is by vocation a bookmaker, in his 

 case apparently an uncommonly profitable profession, and 

 a great sensation he made when three years ago he made 

 a sudden descent on the county, bought what was called 

 by the auctioneers the Binfield Estate — which estate 

 comprised about 700 acres of land — pulled down the ex- 



