THE FOOT DRAG 41 



tune he little cared for, to get back in time for my river slavery. All 

 three of us afterwards became more or less " sporting parsons." Atlay 

 went out to the Universities' Mission in Central Africa, where, 

 needing a holiday, he w^ent off for a shooting expedition, and his 

 camp being rushed by some tribe on the warpath he was killed. 

 Hurried as the matter was, it is known that he deliberately did 

 nothing to defend himself, as his doing so would of course have 

 compromised the Message he went out to give. Harington became a 

 keen beagler, and is now a parish priest somewhere in our native 

 parts. My boat captain, by the way, clearly regarded my desire for 

 sport and my taking desperate measures with a horse to secure it as 

 neither sane nor proper, though he ate some of the rooks in a pie 

 afterwards. But we will return to rowing, as it leads by devious 

 courses, though you might not think it, back to beagling. 



If you work your way into Park Street, whether from Eound 

 Church Street or Jesus Lane, you will find yourself on a well-worn 

 track which debouches on Jesus Green and Midsummer Common, 

 where it leads to the grinds, by which, if a rowing man, you cross 

 daily to your boat-house. In crossing the Common an isolated 

 block of mean buildings and little gardens, bordering the tow-path, 

 confronts you, enclosed by a whitewashed brick wall, on which is 

 inscribed in vast and once conspicuous letters 



E. CALLABY, DOG FANCIER 



The whole enclosure is, goodness knows why, called Fort St. George, 

 and is by the grind which takes you on to the Caius Boat-house and 

 to the Third Trinity, Magdalene, and other dressing-rooms. The 

 upper end of the enclosure is a public-house with a bowling-green. 

 The remainder was Mr. Callaby's premises, where dogs could be 

 bought or kept, where there was a rat-pit, and rats at sixpence a 

 head, on which you could try your terrier, and stalls in w^hich " tow- 

 path gees" could stand while waiting for the coaches who should 

 bestride them. In those days there were no bicycles and much 

 more (and worse) tow-path riding than is now the case. Some of us 

 rowing men would go in, while waiting about in sweaters and shorts 



