224 A MEDLEY OF SPORT 



have driven a negro to suicide, or a liner 20 knots 

 an hour. 



" But buck up, boys," went on Hood, " I have 

 chartered B.'s hght waggon, and if you are agreeable 



we'll spend Christmas with old Jan V and his duck 



and coots. I won fifty of the best at the club last night 

 and I am going to pay ' Sam ' this journey." Having 

 delivered his somewhat longwinded and decidedly dis- 

 jointed harangue. Tommy Hood dismounted, and before 

 I had time to " hold him up " he had commandeered 

 and finished a dehciously cool peg of soda and whisky, 

 which stood on the floor of the verandah within easy 

 reach of my hammock-chair. He had sufficient grace, 

 however, to toast " more power to my elbow " before 

 returning the empty glass to me. 



Now, to be perfectly candid. Madcap Hood's invita- 

 tion came as a rift in the leaden clouds of despond, for 

 a brace of us were awaiting remittances from home ; 

 the other two for their monthly " screw," and all four 

 were, to speak in the vernacular, " on the rocks." 



To overhaul our guns and shooting kits did not 

 occupy very much time, and as the fiery sun began to 

 dip towards the western skyline we " embarked " on 

 our journey in the well-found shooting- waggon that was 

 to convey us to our destination. The bungalow, which 

 was known for miles round as " Bachelor's Hall," was 

 left under the tender charge of our Zulu boy-of-all-work, 

 Pete, and his black but comely wife, who officiated over 

 the culinary department. Only those who have taken a 



