272 TEN YEARS OF GAME-KEEPING 
driving, a man who had a wife and a motor (but 
evidently had to cut things pretty fine to run them 
both) handed me three shillings, saying, ‘It is very 
good fun.’ I never discovered whether this remark 
referred to the wife and motor, the size of the tip, or 
the partridge-driving. Another sportsman invited 
me to have a drink, as I thought, from his flask, 
which was cleared for action. I said, ‘No, thank 
you, sir,’ but quickly discovered that he meant a 
tip. Another man would name the value of his tip: 
‘A nice day—six shillings.’ One of my brothers 
was at a shooting-party where I was keeper. 
Before we started I handed him a sovereign with 
which to tip me; but at the end of the day off went 
my brother, and my precious sovereign went with 
him. On two occasions at Christmas I received a 
cheque for five pounds from employers, one of 
whom wrote: ‘I have been very pleased with the 
energetic, reliable way you have managed the shoot- 
ing, and I enclose a cheque for £5, with my best 
wishes for a happy Christmas.’ 
The meanest method of tipping that ever I heard 
of—indeed, I should think, that human ingenuity 
could devise—was on this wise: Two young men, 
sons of rich parents, shot many days on a first-rate 
shoot without giving the keeper even so much as a 
‘Thank you.’ On Christmas Eve—when, if there 
are any tokens of goodwill and tips to be bestowed 
on keepers they are usually on the generous side— 
