His Own Petard 83 



where, there are doubtless some very good sportsmen and 

 some very bad ones ; and it soon became evident that 

 Perkinson did not belong to the former category. He 

 was a curiously cross-grained personage, a man with 

 whom it was impossible to get on. He entertained to a 

 moderate extent, but sat at the head of his own dinner 

 table, occasionally growling at a servant, but talking 

 little to anybody else, unless an opportunity occurred of 

 contradicting something that had been said. After one 

 or two experiences, men who were asked to dine in- 

 variably found that a previous engagement would prevent 

 them from accepting Mr. Perkinson's kind invitation. 



Little was seen of him out of the hunting-field, and 

 what was seen of him in it did not tend to make him 

 popular. He had no sort of consideration for the con- 

 venience of others. Sometimes hounds met at half-past 

 ten, sometimes at twelve. It seemed to be his delight 

 to run counter to everybody's wishes, and though he 

 would, and, whenever possible, did, spend unlimited time 

 in digging a fox, the record of sport was wretchedly bad. 

 It was felt that he would have enjoyed himself much 

 more ferreting than fox-hunting, so fond was he of 

 getting off his horse and waiting at the mouth of a drain 

 till the unhappy little animal that had taken refuge 

 there was got out. As for leaving the hounds alone at 

 a check, and giving them the time to puzzle it out which 

 Hedworth had hoped they would be granted, that was 

 not at all Perkinson's way. He insisted that they 

 should be cast at once, and, having private theories, of 

 which no amount of experience seemed to show him the 

 fallacy, as a rule in the wrong direction. 



* Where is he off to now ? ' suddenly exclaimed 

 Charlton. ' Isn't he going to draw Hawk's Gorse "? ' 



G 2 



