CHAPTER V 



THREE years previous to this mild adventure, having 

 reached the mature age of nine, I was sold into the 

 slavery of scholastic life. Up to that time I had run wild. 

 My half-brother, Irwin, had just come down from Magdalene, 

 Cambridge, and, as he was eighteen years my senior, he was, 

 naturally enough, inclined to be aloof and patronizing in his 

 attitude towards me ; although he did occasionally condescend 

 to take me angling, and to teach me the wiles of fishes and the 

 most effective methods of out-manoeuvring them. On the 

 other hand, I was constantly raising his wrath by my persistent 

 raids on the game preserves, such as they were ; for I was a 

 persistent and pernicious poacher. After all, it has been said 

 that a poacher is only a good sportsman turned inside out ; 

 so this reprehensible trait must not be writ too large against me. 



Long before I made that memorable onslaught with the 

 polygroove, I had secretly cherished ferrets, had contrived 

 rabbits' nets, and, with the mongrel Tobias, had accounted for 

 several dozen conies, the stock of which, never very plethoric, 

 showed a lamentable diminution, owing to my malpractices. 



It was some time before Irwin's suspicions as to the cause 

 of the scarcity of fur were fully aroused ; but when once 

 satisfied that professional poachers had nothing to do with 

 the decline of the said stock, he began to practise the sneaking 

 methods of the sleuth. 



One day, a hooligan cousin (one Edward Gill, son of the 

 Gaffer of that ilk) and I were busy in one of the coverts, where 

 we imagined that our operations would be well-screened. 

 Our best fitch ferret was in, and we could hear Brer Rabbit 

 scuttling about subterraneously, as is his wont when his 

 vicious enemy sets about him. We were on the alert for the 



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