“As the evening wore apace, my eloquence grew warm—I described my stud and my kennel, told some very curious instances of my hunting experience, and when at last a member of the party, piqued at my monopoly of the conversation, endeavoured to turn my flank by an allusion to grouse-shooting, I stopped him at once, by asserting with vehemence, that no man deserved the name of sportsman who shot over dogs—a sudden silence pervaded the company, while the last speaker turning towards me with a malicious grin, begged to know how I bagged my game, for that, in his county, they were ignorant enough to follow the old method.
“‘With a pony of course,’ said I, finishing my glass.
“‘A pony!’ cried one after the other—how do you mean?’
“‘Why,’ resumed I, ‘that I have a pony sets every species of game, as true as the best pointer that ever ‘stopped.’
“A hearty roar of laughing followed this declaration, and a less courageous spirit than mine would have feared that all his acquired popularity was in danger.
“‘You have him with you, I suppose,’ said a sly old fellow from the end of the table.
“‘Yes,’ said I carelessly—‘I brought him over here to take a couple of days’ shooting, if there is any to be had.
“‘You would have no objection,’ said another insinuatingly, ‘to let us look at the beast?’
“‘Not the least,’ said I.
“‘Maybe you’d take a bet on it,’ said a third.