I20 A Run 



town is fascinated by the cheerful sound, and he has 

 another gJass, which is not the second. He is exhilarated 

 by the festive surroundings, and indeed feels very much 

 more like riding than he did when he dismounted at the 

 door ; for he and his big grey horse had a slight dis- 

 agreement on the road here, and the obstinacy with 

 which the animal insisted on having its own way made 

 Ilrbington a little doubtful as to what might happen 

 in the course of the run if matters did not go smoothly. 

 General Truffles, who merely hunts for an appetite, is 

 busy, of course. He may be said to have found, and does 

 not care a jot whether the earths are stopped at High 

 Elm Gorse, a question which is severely exercising the 

 little knot of men who stand behind his chair. He is 

 intent on the best Russian salad he ever ate, and, great 

 as may be his dislike to the treacherous Tartar, there is 

 no mistake as to the excellence of Eussian salad. 



The clatter of knives and forks gradually ceases, 

 there are many vacant chairs, men are putting on their 

 gloves, and from the windows it can be seen that not 

 a few axe already in the saddle. The hounds, too, 

 clustered round the huntsman's horse, seem to know by 

 instinct that a move is about to be made. The host and 

 his sons have ceased to echo their kindly formula, * Won't 

 you come in and have some breakfast ? ' It is time to 

 be up and doing ; so Urbington has a liqueur of peach 

 brandy to top up with, the General casts a last fond 

 look at the salad, the young lady in the dark .blue habit 

 has caused her gloves and her whip to be retrieved from 

 under the table, and the room is speedily emptied. 



It is a fairly big meet. More than a hundred horse- 

 men are here, in pink, black, or tweed, with breeches of 

 leather or cord, and boots of the top and butcher 



