no CONVERSATIONAL HINTS 



five years, and I've never known the birds to go 

 that way. It's perfectly sickening. 



The Keeper. Ah, they've fairly beat us this 

 time, sir. Pity you didn't leave the two Captains 

 back, as I asked you. They'd 'ave 'ad first-rate 

 shootin'. 



A Gun. Oh, it's no good calculating on these 

 pheasants doing anything for certain. Do you 

 think they don't know what we want them to do ? 

 Of course they do, and they jolly well make up 

 their minds to beat us. They're just as cunning 

 as they make 'em. Nothing beats an old cock- 

 pheasant for cunning. Why, when I was shoot- 

 ing with Jack Bailey the other day, we only got 

 twenty-five out of his best wood, where we ought 

 to have got about 150 (and so on, with the usual 

 reminiscence of a sporting disappointment). 



Host. You're quite right. Pheasants are the 

 knowingest brutes that ever flew. 



You have only got to substitute grouse or 

 partridge for pheasants, and you have in the above 

 dialogue a formula that will fit every case. 



There was another day in another year can I 

 ever forget it? when misfortunes came to me 

 in battalions. Not ,only was I off my form, but 



