16 A Sportsman at Large 



kennel, calling out " Coup ! coup ! " and whistling, after the 

 fashion of the ancient servitor whose job it was to minister 

 to the fowls. Sure enough, Dash did devour the leather, to 

 the last piece ; but instead of being lauded for my investi- 

 gation I was severely reprimanded, whilst Dash was subjected 

 to a course of emetics and castor oil, with (be it happily said) 

 satisfactory and obvious results ! 



When brother Irwin came down from Magdalene, Cam- 

 bridge, he brought with him a black-and-tan terrier bitch, which 

 he had possessed himself of at alma mater, not at all a bad 

 specimen, probably provided by the then dog dealer of Parker's 

 Peace. In my time the man in possession was named Callaby. 



An ill-assorted union was arranged between Dido (for so 

 she was called) and the ancient Dash, the result being a most 

 ungodly nondescript which was called Toby. I adopted 

 this humble mongrel from puppyhood, and grew to love 

 him with an exceeding great love. 



" Handsome is as handsome does " was sure exemplified 

 in the case of Tobias, for he became one of the best aids to 

 the gun I ever chanced across. Nothing came amiss to him ; 

 he was dead keen on fur and feather, had a wonderful nose 

 and a faculty for exploiting it to the best advantage of the 

 shooter ; moreover, he was death on all vermin, and game 

 as a pebble. He was a black and white and weighed about 

 sixteen pounds only. One day he was accidentally shot by 

 one of my cousins and seemed in a bad way. The Dads, 

 who also loved him, brought him home in his arms. The poor 

 little fellow was bleeding profusely and appeared very weak 

 and limp. 



I let myself go in a passion of grief, I snatched the patient 

 from my father, when the undaunted and affectionate Toby 

 rallied to lick my face with glad whines. 



Happily his injuries were not so severe as they looked, and 

 in less than a week my little pal was up and about again. 



This brings me back to my essays with my newly-acquired 

 tuppenny-ha'penny " shooting iron " it would be gross 

 flattery to call the thing a gun. 



Having brought to bag a variety of feathered victims, I, 

 naturally enough, began to cast longing eyes on the bunnies, 



