CHASING AND RACING 63 



evolution, and in a moment Roddy was seated beside 

 me, whilst his mare galloped off to join the other 

 deserter. 



"Who the ? What the ?" began the 



fallen hero of a hundred races ; then, " Here, I say, 

 damn it all, Cockie, we're sitting on a wasps' nest ! 

 Run for your life," and we did. 



The mystery was solved. Both our mares had 

 been stung. 



So much for stag hunting. I am glad to be quit 

 of it, although Ted has a glorious tale to tell of 

 how, when I was away endeavouring to catch the 

 judge's eye at Sandown, Bibury, or some such venue 

 where owners, trainers, gees, and riders of sorts most 

 do congregate, a message had come down from H.M.'s 

 Huntsman to say that a deer had been left in our 

 neighbourhood and would the M. and H.V.H. kindly 

 take it, or hunt it home. Here was a gala gaiety for 

 my cousin, who wired me for leave to proceed. My 

 reply was " Carry on ! " They found the outlying 

 beast all right, and according to His Nibs, he hunted 

 it from early morn to dewy eve, nine mortal hours on 

 end, and were only defeated by the sombre shades of 

 night. Bully for Ted, but no more hare harrying for 

 me for a fortnight, with 25 per cent, of my precious 

 "jelly dogs " still on the sick list ! 



Those who like it, may stick to their stag hunting. 

 What is one man's meat is another man's poison. 



