A CUB-HUNTING INVITATION 



Monday. — Eeceived letter from Powxceby. 

 " Come down to my little place and we'll do a 

 morning's cubbing. Can mount you. Say Tuesday 

 night by 6.5, and I'll meet you at Chickenham 

 Station." Deuced good of Powxceby. Hardly 

 known him a week. Will wire at once to accept. 



Tuesday. — Go down by 6.5 train. Pouring all 

 the way. Wonder how far Chickenham is. 

 Inquire, and am told next station. Powxceby 

 receives me on platform. Awfully dark and still 

 raining. Hope he has brought closed carriage of 

 some sort. Hate open carts this weather. 

 Powxceby greets me heartily. Seems a deuced 

 good chap this. So thoroughly pleased to see me. 

 " My little place only a short step from here, so 

 hope you won't mind walking ? Porter will take 

 your bag. Yes, the roads are a bit muddy, but 

 that's nothing. Eeady ? We'll start, then." 

 Don't think walking is quite in my line, especially 

 on pouring wet night. We trudge along dark lane, 

 splashing into deep puddles at every other step. 



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