THE FINEST SPORT 141 



hear this sort of thing we need not pity 

 Jones, the huntsman, for we may be sure It 

 is his usual practice to out horn and gallop 

 off to the distant bawler, regardless of what 

 his hounds may be doing at the moment. 

 The climax Is reached when the following 

 dialogue ensues. 



Huntsman : *' Where did you see 'Im, 

 boy?" 



Boy (after a long stare) : *' Zee wha-a-at } " 



H.'. "The fox, of course." 



B. (after thinking it out carefully) : "Ain't 

 seen narrun." 



H. : "Then what the devil did you 'alloa 

 for.?" 



B.\ "'Cos I'se paid to. I'se flaying 

 rewks." 



( Tableau. ) 



The real huntsman, who merely acknow- 



