"'Say, Harry, the old man killed his fox well to-day," says Charles, the First Whip, to his junior, as they jog home to the kennels in the evening.

"Umph!" replies Harry; "but he need not have dropped it so hot on to me just because them two couple of loiterers stopped back. Blessed if I ever saw such hounds as them for messing about in cover. It's always the same. Caterer and Bellman, Pillager and Marksman, never up in time; and then if I gets on a bit, it's 'Where's them two couple? Go back and fetch 'em at once.' Dashed if I oughtn't to take a return ticket to every field in the county."

[Pg 27]

Charles, who thinks it by no means improbable that some day he may find himself with the horn of office, and Harry promoted to First Whip's place, merely says: "Well, you shouldn't be in such a thundering hurry to get off. You know your place is back, and back you should be."

At this juncture they ride up to The Bell and Horns, a famous halfway house, where they brew the best of ale, and can, if so disposed, give you a glass of the best whisky out of Ireland. The landlord, a sporting old veteran, bustles out and takes Tom's order for "Three pints of dog's nose" (a compound of ale and gin), "and some gruel for the nags."

"Well, what sort of a day have you had?" says he. "Nay, nay, don't mind the hound, let him be," as Harry is proceeding to correct Minstrel's attack of curiosity concerning the construction of Boniface's waistcoat. "The old boy and I are friends," and he pats the hound's sensible head.

Old Tom, having taken his face out of the[Pg 28] pint pot, and smacking his lips, replies: "A first-rate day. Found in the gorse, run through Bouffler's meadows up to the Mere, turned in the lane, where the fox was headed, then over the Ring Hills, and killed by Bromley Wood. Charles here," pointing to his aide-de-camp, "was the means of our killing; and I must say Harry did uncommon well, though he does always want to be in front."

At this meed of praise from their chief both the Whips feel some inches taller, and Harry quite forgets his rating in the morning.

The horses gruelled and the score paid by the Huntsman, they are again on the road, having been joined by a couple of farmers going their way as far as the cross-roads, and with whom old Tom is soon in close confabulation. Harry rides for some distance without vouchsafing a word, save an occasional "Whip, get for'ard," to some straggler of the pack. At last he says:

"Charles, the old man is a good 'un, and[Pg 29] no mistake. I'd sooner have a kick from him than sixpence from anyone else. He's quite right—business is business; but when it's over how many of 'em would stand a glass, 'specially after a bit of a word?"

"You're right, my lad," replies Charles. "You'll go mony a day afore you pitch on a man like old Tom, or, for the matter o' that, on a pack like our'n. Look you, it ain't every Huntsman as 'ull let his Whips into the secret of breeding; but I'll be bound there ain't a hound as you and I don't know as much about as he does hisself."

"What are you two a-chattering about?" interrupts Tom.

"Only a-saying as how we knowed the pedigrees, sir," said Harry.

"So you ought. I'm sure I lets Charles and you know all I can. My system is 'fair do's.' Every man's got a summut to do with the run, and they're our hounds; and though I say it as perhaps shouldn't, we've the best Master and the best pack in England; and[Pg 30] when I comes on the society, if Charles there ain't ready to take my place, why it will break my heart. Ay, my lad, and then you can get for'ard as much as you like."

"I knows one thing," says Harry, whose heart is getting too big for his waistcoat, "the Bullshire have got the best Huntsman in England, or, for the matter o' that, in the world; and I'm main sorry as I vexed you to-day leaving them hounds in cover."

"Not a bit, lad, not a bit; it's over now. I like to see yer keen; but duty first, yer know," replies Tom. "Charles," he continues, "it looks all like a frost to-night. What do yer think?"

"Freezes now, and there are two or three of these hounds going lame a bit, and they find the ground a bit hardish," says Charles.

By this time they have arrived at the cross-roads, and the two farmers turn off, leaving the Huntsman and his two Whips with a three-mile trot before them.

It may be gathered from the above the[Pg 31] sort of terms that the Bullshire Hunt servants were on with each other, and what good feeling existed between them. Charles, the First Whip, had served his apprenticeship with the pack—first as a lad in the kennel, then as Second Whip, and lastly where we find him. His whole soul lay in his work, and the most miserable time he owns to in his life was when he broke his leg riding over a gate, and was laid up for six weeks away from his darlings. "I shouldn't a minded if it had been in the summer," said he; "but having to lay up abed in the middle of this beautiful scenting weather, it's d——d hard luck, and I know the beauties will be wondering where the deuce I've got to." As soon as he could move, his first outing was to the kennels, where the reception, or rather ovation, he obtained corroborated his opinion anent the hounds missing him.

Equally fond of hunting was Harry, though, it must be confessed, he liked the riding part the best. Originally a farmer's boy, he first made his appearance in the[Pg 32] hunting-field on the top of a leader out of the plough, which he had surreptitiously detached, and the way he rattled the old nag along, chains and all, over or through everything, gained him his place. Sir John Lappington, happening to see him, made inquiries about the boy, and when he was turned off by his indignant master—for of course he was turned off when his escapade came to light—he asked the lad if he would like to go to the kennels. Harry jumped at the offer, and when there he made himself so useful and learnt to ride so quickly that on the Second Whip leaving suddenly, through misplaced confidence in the amount of liquid he could "carry," Harry was put in as a stopgap, and did so well that he was officially appointed Second Whip, and has been so now for three seasons, giving every satisfaction.

Of his powers of riding the following anecdote will show:

They had been running hard one day last season, and were getting on terms with their[Pg 33] fox, when, just as they approached the Swill (a deep muddy brook, to jump which when low was a thing to talk of, and when full almost an impossibility), a fresh fox jumped up right in the centre of the pack, and took half of them over the stream, which was bank full. To stop them was a necessity, and there was no bridge nearer than half a mile. Harry, without waiting a minute, pulled his nag together, and shouting: "Here's in or over. I canna swim; but I've naught to leave 'cept my togs, and the're master's," rode at it, and, to the astonishment of everybody, in another second was safe across and had stopped the hounds on the far side. How he got over is a mystery to this day, and no one was so astonished as himself. If you ask him he will tell you "he only knew hounds had to be stopped, and if he had gone under he could not have helped it. He trusted to luck and his spurs, and they pulled him through."

It is small wonder that everything works like clockwork when Master, Huntsman, and[Pg 34] Whips all act in concert and harmony, and Charles and Harry know full well the value of their situations. After the horses are done up for the night, and the hounds are seen to, fed, warm and comfortable on their benches, the two will as like as not go up and smoke a pipe at old Tom's cottage before turning in; and the knowledge they gain in those "evenings at home" is untold, for, as Charles said, the old man keeps nothing back, and is never so pleased as when he is giving his Whips the benefit of his long experience. Should the frost set in, the Master will be down at the kennels in the morning for a certainty, and two or three instructive hours will be passed in talk of horse and hounds.