A MINCING LANE M. F. H. 67 



there, but no sign of a hound ; and it was past 

 the half-hour when Toppler, looking more than 

 usually dilapidated, came up with the pack. 

 That the hounds were a very good-looking lot 

 every one must have admitted ; but looks are 

 not everything. 



After a time Poult gave the word to open 

 proceedings, and Toppler rode through a gate 

 into the field which separated us from a covert. 

 The hounds, however, showed a curious dis- 

 inclination to follow their huntsman, and loitered 

 about the road and ditches, or from a station 

 near the gate surveyed affairs, keeping one eye 

 on Toppler and the other on my badly turned- 

 out acquaintance, who was acting as whip. 

 Toppler blew his horn, and the pack, still keep- 

 ing a cautious distance, formed a semi-circle 

 round him. Sutcliffe w^as chuckling to himself, 

 and I asked the reason of his mirth. 



" Why, you see," he replied, " sometimes 

 Poult hunts the hounds himself and Toppler is 

 whip, and sometimes Toppler hunts them. He's 

 an awful brute with hounds, and they don't 

 understand quite, I suppose, in what capacity 

 they are to regard him. Look at that old 

 hound's face. Could anything say plainer, 

 ' That's the fellow who gave me such a oner 

 the other day when I had not done anything 



