SOME SMOKING-ROOM YARNS 167 



Here follows a sequel to the foregoing story : 



Not very long since, Captain J met Mr. Leather 



at a certain well-known London gunmaker's shop. 



" Had many invites to shoot this season, Captain? " 



" No, sir, have you? " 



" I should rather say so far more than I can possibly 

 accept." 



' You are fortunate in being so' sought after, Mr. 

 Leather. May I presume, however, that your numerous 

 shooting hosts take the precaution of insuring the lives 

 and limbs of their keepers and dogs prior to your 



visits? " 



******* 



An eminent West End silk mercer, by dint of industry 

 and enterprise, has raised himself from the obscurity 

 of an errand-boy to a very honourable position in one of 

 the home counties in which he has acquired a fine estate 

 noted for its head of game. The well-stocked coverts 



thereon were shot during Christmas, and Mr. , 



having been placed by his keeper in a very warm corner, 

 the pheasants came both high and fast over his head, 

 like a veritable meteoric shower. Now it happened 

 that the man who acted as loader for the Squire had 

 placed just seventy-five cartridges in his master's bag 

 at the commencement of the first beat. It may also be 

 mentioned that the loader had been well rated by the 

 Squire that morning for some trivial transgression. As 

 before stated, the " rocketers " simply streamed over the 

 Squire, and as fast as his guns could be loaded and fired 

 he had at the birds. But alas ! those seventy-five cart- 

 ridges only accounted for a brace of hens and one old 

 cock pheasant. 



