A VERY TAME STAG HUNT 35 



trudged along the three miles of muddy highway, which 

 lay between World End and the appointed fixture at 

 Marland. 



" Why not run with them a bit, if only to get down 

 a little superfluous weight ? " asked Barker, who, I may 

 remark, is not of " Pharaoh's lean kine." 



" My dear fellow, if you had but seen the manner in 

 which stag-hounds race away the moment they are laid 

 on the line of their quarry, you would not suggest any- 

 thing so quixotic as running to them on foot," replied 

 I, with all the assurance of an old staghunter. Little 

 did I think that my companion would have the laugh of 

 me ere the morning was out. 



Immediately upon arriving at the meet. Barker 

 coaxed me into entering the hospitable portals of the 

 George Hotel. A good-looking and level little pack of 

 hounds, under the charge of their huntsman and a couple 

 of whips, was ranged in the wide sleepy old High Street, 

 before the hotel, with quite a crowd of bucoUc judges of 

 horse and hound flesh discussing the points of both the 

 pack and of the hunt servants' mounts. The George 

 meanwhile was doing a roaring trade amongst the 

 members of the hunt, for not only were the men laying 

 in a fairly good store of " jumping powder " but a bevy 

 of fair Dianas also appeared to be refreshing themselves 

 in a particularly generous fashion. Of course Barker 

 and myself, as humble pedestrians, were looked upon 

 somewhat askance by the assembled company as we 

 seated ourselves in an alcove of the long wainscoted 



