DRIVING 133 



fiercely drive it into him much too close with your 

 second. 



' D n the hare,' you mutter aloud as you change 

 your gun ; but the men are getting near, you hear the 

 whish and rustle of the flags, a few more desultory 

 lots come screaming over, and pretty it is, looking 

 down the line, to see them drop out as they pass, for 

 the performers on either side of you are picked from 

 the best in England. A few more ' singletons ' to 

 each gun, all killed but one, at which four barrels are 

 fired, and which towers far away back. 



' Anything to pick up this side, gentlemen ? ' sings 

 out Marlowe ; in another minute he and his horse 

 come crashing through the gap, the white smocks 

 and flags are peeping through unforeseen holes in the 

 fence, all the dogs are loose and ranging far and wide, 

 the guns and loaders scattered, picking up in all direc- 

 tions, and the drive of the season is over. 



Seventy-five brace in the single drive, of which 

 forty birds you can honestly claim, having laid their 

 corpses in a fair row ere they are hurled by the 

 old pensioner into his sack, and you find yourself 

 shouted, whistled, nay, sworn at, to get on to the 

 next drive. 



Glad are you in your heart, for that was a good 

 score, well and truly made. You will not always be in 



