Harley Greenoak's Charge - Bertram Mitford

“Not until you’ve had some pheasant shooting, Greenoak,” said Sir Anson. “I swear you shan’t go from here till you’ve had some pheasant shooting, and that won’t be just yet. So you’re anchored for the present, you see. Now,” he went on, “fill the glasses. I’m going to propose a toast. Here it is. ‘All our good friends across the water, coupled with the name of Harley Greenoak.’”

The latter looked, if he could look such a thing, a trifle nervous.

“I can’t make a speech, Sir Anson,” he said, when they had drunk it. “Well, since I took charge of Dick there, I discovered more than once the truth of what you told me at the time. He certainly has an amazing aptitude for getting into holes, but then he manages to get himself out again.” (“Or you do it for him, old chap,” interrupted Dick.) “Well, then, as you have coupled your toast with the name of Harley Greenoak, I reply by proposing another toast, and that is ‘Harley Greenoak’s Charge.’”

“Here, Dick,” said Sir Anson, “open another bottle or so, and give the men a brimming bumper apiece. They must drink this toast too. I forgot in the other case, but they can drink Greenoak’s health as a toast to itself afterwards.”

The keepers and watchers, who were eating their lunch under a tree a little way apart, were called up and duly supplied with the invigorating sparkle. Then the health was drunk with enthusiasm—

“Harley Greenoak’s Charge!”

The End.