282 THE HUNTING FIELD 



thrown away. Nevertheless, Mr. Milksop had for- 

 gotten all about it, as in the enjoyment of the " balmy 

 breeze " of a fine hunting morning, he cantered up to 

 the Cow at Dunchurch. What did he see ! Strutt, 

 instead of standing with his usual patronising air, 

 with a couple of jean-jacketed helpers behind him, 

 acknowledging his presence with a finger to his hat, 

 appeared in an old cloth foraging cap, with a blue 

 pocket handkerchief bound over his left eye, while 

 the other exhibited symptoms of going into 

 mourning. 



"What's the matter?" exclaimed Mr. Milksop, 

 pulling up in astonishment. 



"Matter!" replied Strutt, with the dignity of a 

 deeply injured man ; " matter, by God ! " continued 

 he, " I've pretty near lost my precious life with that 

 ere blasted rip of yours." 



"What rip?" asked Mr. Milksop, who knew the 

 term to be one of general application. 



" Why that d d beast Colonel Scabbydog, or 



whatever they call him, has stuck into you." 



" What, my new horse ! " exclaimed Mr. Milksop. 



"New Devil!" retorted Mr. Strutt, "he's as 

 vicious as a whole caravan full of tigers." 



" Vicious ! " repeated Mr. Milksop. 



" Vicious, ay, vicious" reiterated Strutt, with an 

 emphasis, "he nearly killed me — most pulled the 

 stable down — takes ten men to hold him — 'bliged to 

 put his corn down through the rack." 



" God bless me, you don't say so ! " observed Mr. 

 Milksop, quite disconcerted. "You are none the 

 worse though, I hope," added he, looking at the little 

 great man's dejected appearance. 



" Wuss ! " exclaimed he, his impudence rising with 

 his master's consideration. " Wuss" repeated he, 

 with a shake of his head and shrug of his shoulders, 

 "never had such a shake in my life, I know. Wish 

 I may ever get over it." 



