AROUND HAMPTON COURT 131 



too uninteresting," and fell to wondering whether 

 that had anything to do with the gosling crop on 

 the common falling so short that I was only hissed 

 at once by my much-respected friends the ganders 

 and geese, best of fathers and mothers, and at 

 that conspired only by a limited liability company 

 of old 'uns, who mustered no more than a couple 

 of ''gulls " among them. Probably the changes 

 are breaking the old birds' hearts. 



Taking my ease at my favourite inn, the Mitre, 

 at Hampton Court at Christmas time, I fell a- 

 reminiscing. Natural enough, lodged in a house 

 from which radiates sport galore, and in which it 

 centres. At the Mitre you can have, are sure to 

 have, whatever is written on the bill of fare, are 

 certain to have the best procurable of that item, 

 and to be treated, not as a number, but as a 

 member — a welcome guest, one of the Mitre's con- 

 nection, whose tastes and fancies are humoured 

 and remembered. I found myself primed, filled 

 up to the bung, with memories of good sportsmen 

 to whom the Mitre was a happy centre for 

 rendezvous. Subjects ? Why, bless you, I could 

 write for a month round Hampton Court and 

 not write myself out. 



How might I let myself loose about the old 

 house, with its silver show and its old Sheffield 

 plate show — better, in my eyes, than the other 

 — of Jack Sadler, the L.A.C. champion, son of 

 the Mitre ; of Coombe over the way, at the 

 Greyhound, who walked so well ; of the Hampton 

 Court Harriers ; of the Molesey Boat Club, with 

 old Joe Sadler, trainer ; the Canns, the Blocks, 

 the Kents, and the Pipers ; and Alexander Pain, 

 who won the Wingfield's ; Gilbert Kennedy, who 

 did ditto. Then there were in the long ago the 



