198 THE FIRST DAY OF THE SEASON 



footing of " I will tell you all I know about foxes " 

 (and who could afford better information than one 

 whose habits and disposition partook more of the 

 vermin than the man ?), " providing you give me a 

 shilling to drink your health." Gipsy Jim and I 

 had hardly interchanged these civilities, when, trot- 

 ting along on a stout, handsome, six-year-old, in 

 capital condition, though, if anything, a little too 

 fat (not a bad fault, however, at the beginning of 

 the season), came farmer Thresher, of Beanstead, a 

 florid, yellow-haired, red-whiskered, jovial, hard- 

 riding, independent agriculturist, who, on the 

 strength of having been at school in years gone by 

 with some of the neighbouring squires, myself 

 amongst the number, called us all freely by our sur- 

 naQies, forgetting to prefix the accustomed Mister, 

 and thus giving great umbrage to some and causing 

 them always to pointedly address him as " Mr 

 Thresher." Our mutual salutations had hardly come 

 to an end when we were joined by half a dozen 

 more sturdy yeomen, able and willing to go, let the 

 pace be ever so severe, and all of them contributing 

 their five pounds yearly to the support of the 

 Easyallshire Muggers, " spite of wheat, sir, at four- 

 teen shillings a bag." 



Young Boaster next turns up, a swaggering blade 

 from a neighbouring hunt, who is always abusing 



