i/o THE SPORT OF KINGS 



On the opening day he does not beg; indeed, 

 he would scorn the imputation at any time, though 

 he is not above giving a friendly hint on occasions 

 when funds wax low. But his pockets get fairly 

 well filled, and many a shilling and sixpence go 

 into them from his wealthier patrons to mix with 

 the coppers of his poorer friends ; for the runner 

 is a privileged character, and every one contributes 

 a little to his maintenance. 



That he is a ne'er-do-well is admitted on all 

 hands, and though he appears in glorious apparel at 

 the opening meet, it is a wonder to every one how he 

 has lived through the summer months. His old 

 haunts — his winter haunts, that is — have not known 

 him, and it seems only with hunting men that he 

 can make any headway ; whilst work he cannot, or 

 will not, which comes to much the same thing in 

 the end. Indeed, most of his patrons have not 

 seen him since the last day of the season, which 

 with him is also a day of ingathering. 



Ne'er-do-well as he is, he is a sportsman, and 

 you may be sure that if there is any fun he will see 

 something of it. Indeed, some runners get over 

 the ground so well, and their knowledge of the 

 country is so good, that they can see a great deal 

 of the sport in all but flying countries, and not 

 infrequently they manage to see the afternoon's 

 draw. 



Then, as night approaches, he sets off on his 

 homeward tramp, for your runner carefully eschews 

 trains. The glowing lights of some roadside 

 public-house throw out a tempting invitation. He 

 is soon in the taproom, a chunk of bread and 

 cheese and a pint of ale before him. This 

 despatched, he begins to regale the company with 



