OUR HUNT "POINT TO POINT"

Last week our Point to Point steeplechase came off. So did several of the riders: this merely _par parenthese_. I offered to mark out the course, and, as I intended to escape the dread ordeal of riding by scratching my horse at the last moment, I thought it would be great fun to choose a very stiff, not to say bloodthirsty, line. Awful grumbling on the part of those unhappy ones who were to ride. Just as the bell rang for saddling, Captain Sproozer, ready dressed for the fray, came up to me with very long face, and said, "Beastly line this, you know, Phunker. I call it much too stiff."

I smiled in pitying and superior manner. "Think so, my dear Sproozer? My horse can't run, worse luck, but I only wish _I_ were going to have the gallop over it."

"So you shall, then!" cried a rasping voice, suddenly, from behind me.

Sir Hercules Blizzard was the speaker, an awful man with an awful temper. "So you shall. My idiot of a jockey broke his collar-bone trying to jump one of the fences on this confounded course of yours to-day, so, as I am without a rider, you shall ride my mare Dinah."

Swallowed lump in my throat as I thanked him for his offer, but thought I had better decline, as I didn't know the mare, and besides that, I----

"Oh! all right, I know what you are going to say: that you're not much good on a horse"--(nothing of the sort! I was not going to say any such thing, confound the man!) "Of course, I know all that, and that you're not much of a rider; but I can't help myself now. It's too late to get a decent horseman, so I shall have to make shift with you."

Deuced condescending of him. I made a feeble effort to escape, and would cheerfully have paid a hundred pounds for the chance of doing so. Phil Poundaway, great friend of mine, came up and said (sympathetically, as I thought at first), "I should think you'd prefer to get off it, wouldn't you, Phunker?"

Thought he would volunteer in my place, so was perfectly frank with him.

"My dear Phil, I'd give a hundred to get off----"

"Ah! you will, I expect, at the first fence, without paying the money!"

he grinned, as he turned away.

Murder was in my heart at that moment. I got on Dinah, and, feeling like death, rode down to the starting-post. Thoughts of a misspent youth, of home and friends and things, came o'er me. I seemed once more to see the little rose-covered porch, the----

"What on earth are you mooning about?" thundered the Blizzardian voice in my ear. "Take hold of her head tighter than that, or you'll be off!"

The next moment the starter yelled "Go!" and away, like a whirlwind, we sped across the first field, towards a huge, thick blackthorn fence, the one I had thought to see such fun with. Fun! I never felt less funny in my life, as we approached it at the rate of two thousand miles an hour!

The mare jumped high, but I jumped much higher, and seemed for a brief moment to be soaring through the blue empyrean. Somehow, the mare managed to evade me on the return journey earthwards, and, instead of alighting on the saddle, I found myself "sitting on the floor." A howl--it might have been of sympathy, but it didn't sound quite like that--arose from the crowd, and then I thought that I would go home on foot, instead of returning to explain matters to Sir Hercules. As a matter of fact, I don't much care for a.s.sociating with old Blizzard, at all events, not just now.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AMENITIES OF SPORT

_Huntsman_ (_to Whip, sent forward for a view_). "Haven't ye seen him, Tom?"

_Whip._ "No, sir."

_Huntsman._ "If he'd been in a pint pot, ye jolly soon would!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: HIS LITTLE DODGE

_First Hunting Man_ (_having observed the ticket with "K" on it in his friend's hat_). "I didn't know that old gee of yours was a kicker. He looks quiet enough."

_Second Hunting Man._ "Well, he isn't really. I only wear the "K" to make people give me more room!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: TRUE COURAGE

_Whip._ "Hi, sir! Keep back! The fox may break covert there!"

_Foreigner._ "Bah! I fear him not--your fox."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FORCE OF HABIT

_Spanner_ (_a great cyclist, whose horse has been startled by man on covert hack_). "Hi! confound you! Why the deuce don't you sound your bell!!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE CART WITHOUT THE HORSE"

Scene--_Cub-hunting._ Time--_About one o'clock._

_Lady._ "Well, Count, what have you lost? Your lunch?"

_The Count_ (_who breakfasted some time before six o'clock, a.m._). "No, no! Donner und wetter! I have him, but I have lost my teeth!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: HORRIBLE PREDICAMENT

_Gent_ (_on mettlesome hireling_). "'Elp! 'Elp! Somebody stop 'im! 'E's going to jump, and I can't!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MOST EMBARRa.s.sING

_Lady (hiding behind bush, to Mr. Spoodle, who has captured her horse)_.

"Oh, thank you so much! But I hope to goodness you have found my skirt as well!"

[_Nice position for Mr. Spoodle, who is very bashful, and has seen nothing of the garment_.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DO NOT SPEAK TO THE MAN AT THE WHEEL"

_'Arry_ (_puffing a "twopenny smoke," to huntsman, making unsuccessful cast_). "Very bad scent."

_Huntsman._ "Shockin'! Smells like burnin' seaweed!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: OBEYING ORDERS

"It's all very well for master to say 'Keep close to Miss Vera, Miles'--but I want to know 'oo's going to take Miles to the 'orsepital?"]