THE "TIPSTER. lOI 



him, they pulled up short, one remarking to the other, " I say, 

 here's a darned fellow with a gun ! " 



A very disreputable member of the now-a-days numerous 

 fraternity known as "hunt runners" accosted me in Melton one after- 

 noon with the usual request for " a drink." As it was obvious that he 

 had already had more than enough, I promptly declined to do host ; 

 whereupon he drew himself up, and in slow, measured terms, delivered 

 himself thus in a voice to be heard half way down the street — " Very 

 well, Mr. Damport : don't you never come to me again for henny 

 more 'unting hinformation." It should be stated that this fellow 

 used to ply on the road between Houghton and Glenn Gorse every 

 other Thursday, when Mr. Fernie's hounds were out in that region, 

 and that as I was in the habit of going down by train from Melton, 

 and was always a bit late, my form of greeting to the various 

 w^ayfarers in gateways was, generally — "heard anything of the 

 hounds?" Not that, needless to say, I was ever concerned to pay 

 much heed to anything anyone chanced to tell me. 



Many years ago — over 40 — I hired a hack from a man named 

 Broughton, of Billesdon, and rode off to some ver}^ popular Hunt 

 Races. Before arriving I took the opportunity to test the owner's 

 assurance that it could jump, with unfortunate results, for the 

 brute, " put me down," and, as it was wet and dirty where we fell, 

 I appeared on the course anything but trim and neat. My dishevelled 

 state, however, did not deter a friend — who was destined later to 

 become a shining light in the Holderness country — from asking me 

 to join his partv at luncheon. In those days there were not any tents, 

 and in this particular case, luncheon was served al fresco, on a long 

 table, in an adjoining paddock. Not caring, in my somewhat ragged 

 plight, to mingle with a lot of smartly dressed women, I waited until 

 the host and hostess and their party had returned to the course, 

 before sauntering over to the paddock " for a bite." When I did 

 so, I found sundry others of humble station in life bent on the same 

 errand. Now for the point of the story: "I was sitting somewhat 

 apart, by myself, and was suddenly accosted thus : " " What do you 

 want to drink?" Looking up, I found a pompous butler at my 

 side, and seeing an opened bottle of champagne on a table near, 

 jerked my head in the direction of my glance, saying : — " Oh ! give 

 me some of that pop, please." " H'm ! that's not for the likes of 

 you," was the prompt rejoinder." He was not long, though, before 

 being taught that it was ! 



