The Great Presentatioti Day, 179 



*^ Where's my groom? Hang the fellow, he's never 

 about when one wants him.": 



Charlie Wildoats, a huge cigar in his mouth, trots 

 round from the stables on his grey hunter, looking like 

 going all over. He has arranged everything beauti- 

 fully. His man with the drag has started off some 

 time,, and J Charlie, as he' looks at the flushed faces 

 around him, chuckles to himself as he thinks what jostling 

 and pushing, and thrusting there will be among them 

 -when the hounds are fairly off. "Well, Mr. Charles, 

 I dunno how you feel, sir," says old Ralph Duckworth, 

 very red in. the face, riding up to him, " I dunno how you 

 feel, but I feel as if I could ride over any mortal thing, 

 I do." At length a start is made, and forthwith the 

 hounds proceed to draw the belt round the park. 



No sooner are they in than there is a whimper. In 

 another second the whimper becomes a chorus. The 

 hounds clamber over the park palings into the road. 

 '* He's away over the grass, as sure as blazes," says Tom 

 Tootler as he slips through a gate. " Forrad, forrad ! " he 

 cries (Tom has had something to drink, too, and is in a 

 high state of excitement), sending his horse at a formidable 

 fence out of the road. 



''Forrad ! forrad !'' A useless cry on his part, for the 

 hounds are running away from him as it is. Lord Daisy- 

 field, Charlie Wildoats, The Bishop of Soda and B— , 

 The Younger Son, Johnnie Clinker and his wife, and 

 Tom Chirpington and his, are close to him. Old Charlie 

 Dabber for once is puzzled ; he has never known a 

 fox take the particular line this one is taking. '' This 

 is no bagman, I'll swear," said he to himself, and 

 pounding along towards Thrussington Woods, whither 



V—2 



