334 A CUB-HUNTING INVITATION 



POWNCEBY ; " you see your meal before you. None 

 of your French dishes for me ! " (Mem. nor for me 

 either, unfortunately,) " but, good, plain, English 

 food, eh ? " Do not reply, but attack sausage. 

 Decline fried chop. Beer turgid ; leave it untasted ; 

 Thank goodness, my portmanteau arrives during 

 repast. Pay porter half-a-crown — looks as if he 

 had earned it. Pownceby finishes off my chop and 

 his own too, smacks his lips, and produces bottle 

 of " cooking " brandy. I light cigar, and take one 

 sip of the brandy. Find one sip more than satis- 

 fying and do not try another. " Got a nice horse 

 for you, to-morrow," says Pownceby; "he ain't 

 a beauty, but a real good 'un. Useful horse, 

 too. Does all the chain-harrowing and carting 

 work. Must start at 5 a.m. sharp and get breakfast 

 afterwards." I nod. Am past the speaking stage 

 now. Pietire to bed, damp and shivering, and very 

 hungry. Find mouse seated on dressing table, 

 regarding me contemptuously. Shy boot at him. 

 Miss mouse, but smash mirror. Feel glow of 

 unholy satisfaction at this. Toss about all night. 



Wednesday. — Eise 4.30, dress by candle-light, 

 and crawl down stairs. Ask Pownceby where are 

 horses ? " Oh, we'll walk round to the stable for 

 'em," says Pownceby. Plod through many puddles, 

 and enter evil smelling shed. Labourer saddling 



