GLORIOUS GOODWOOD 9 



beaten — done up to such an extent that I was 

 absolutely afraid to sit down for fear I wouldn't 

 be able to get up again, in which case there 

 would be no Goodwood for me. 



This was a very nice situation, for a poor 

 body all alone by himself and fixed in a dilemma, 

 not strong enough to keep on the move and 

 morally compelled not to stop. You wouldn't 

 believe how foolish you can be — at least not till 

 you try. My disease, which, as I have 

 endeavoured to demonstrate, was very alarming 

 in its symptoms, made me chuckle when I 

 diagnosed it properly. All the strange sensa- 

 tions, the loss of power, weakness of the legs, 

 and drawn feeling about the shoulders were due 

 to a very simple cause. Old, very old, iron 

 pyrites dropped from the clouds or somewhere 

 else, was the matter with me. I don't want any 

 scientific gent to tell me that a thunderbolt is not 

 a thunderbolt, because by no other name would 

 it be so interesting. What I am going to say is 

 that I quite overlooked the fact that I was cart- 

 ing about two pocketfuls of the thunderbolts I 

 picked up, and had little by little declared myself 

 goodness only knows how much overweight. It 

 was a good job I made this important discovery, 

 for I was much perturbed in mind, and was 

 wasting what ought to be to me a treat. 



A great treat it is to be up on the Downs 

 between Petersfield and the Arun in the sweet 

 scent-laden air, with grand panorama views 

 spread out before you, the scenty turf to walk on, 

 and the beech coppices — woods, I should say — 

 for shade if you desire it — I do not, because I 

 believe in absorbing all the sun to be found — no 

 company save the birds and insects, and, perhaps, 



