THE SECRETARY.
A man of immense importance is Mr. J. Boulter of The Grange, quite as essential to the welfare of the Bullshire Hunt as either Master or servants; and, indeed, if you could see through the double-breasted pink, the corduroy waistcoat, and the gray flannel beneath, into his innermost heart, you would, I am almost convinced, find that Mr. B. was there written down as the man of the lot.
No light task is his, namely that of professional beggar. For he is Secretary and Treasurer to the Hunt, and on him falls the onus of collecting as well as receiving subscriptions. Long practice has made him an adept in the art of "cornering" a defaulter, for he has been in office for fifteen years, and it is his boast that if a pound is to be got he is the man to get it.
On one occasion he was sorely put about by a man (I was going to say a gentleman, but his conduct precludes the use of the term), who came down from town and established himself in the country, bringing with him a large stud of hunters. Naturally the Secretary fixed his eagle eye on so promising a subject, and after a month or so began to hint at a subscription, which of course was promised but never came.
Well, the season was drawing to a close and no cheque had been received from the stranger, who, by-the-way, had not forgotten to find fault with everything and everybody; moreover Mr. Boulter had heard by a side-wind that half the large stud were gone, and the rest, accompanied by their owner, would shortly follow. This, coupled with the oft-repeated question at the covert-side of "Holloa, Boulter, got his coin yet?" put our Secretary on his mettle. So one off-day he rode over to the inn and interviewed the individual, asking him point blank for his cheque, as he (Mr. B.) was making up the accounts. The answer was not propitious, for the snob replied: "I have not got my cheque-book with me, but here are two sovereigns, which is quite sufficient for such a provincial pack as yours."
Boulter pocketed the sovereigns and retired, meditating revenge. At last, however, he hit on a plan.
The meet on the following Monday was fixed for Bindley Park, and the first draw was a long wood, at one end of which lay the house of a market-gardener and small farmer. The only way from the Park to the wood was through the farmyard-gate and out into the field, unless you jumped the fence into the market-garden. Mr. Boulter accordingly took the owner of the said gate into his confidence, as well as those of the field he could trust, and on the day of the meet the gate was found to be locked, and no one knew where the farmer had gone. To lift it off the hinges was impossible, and old Tom, with a twinkle in his eye, said: "Dang it all; but we mun go round," and forthwith made a pretence of trotting off.