SIXTY YEARS ON THE TURF 



"This is a pretty kettle o' fish," Smith com- 

 mented. " What shall we do with him ? " 



" Oh, leave him where he is ! " 



*' No. That won't do. There'd be an awful row 

 about it. I will conceal the crime." And, ripping 

 open the lining of his coat, he popped Mr. Fox out 

 of sight. By this lunch time had arrived, and we 

 walked to Mr. Carew's house. The journey of about 

 a mile and a half, and the weight of the fox, were 

 too much for the stitches of the lining, and at the 

 critical moment, when we met the rest of the party 

 opposite the house, out tumbled the fox. 



" Who shot the fox ? " they all roared. 



" There is the culprit," said Smith. " Hodgy — 

 Hodgy alone — did it." 



However, the accident was soon explained, and 

 the matter left my mind till the ensuing Monday, 

 when I strolled into Tattersall's Yard. The first 

 man I noticed was Harry Hill, with Smith whisper- 

 ing at his ear. 



" Good morning, Hodgy," called Hill. " Feeling 

 all right ? " 



" Famous, Harry. Never better." 



" Have you had any shooting lately ? " 



*' Yes," I shouted, so that everybody could hear, 

 for the grin on many faces told me that Smith had 

 not been idle. "Yes, Harry. I had some on. 



117 



