“Put the dunkey to.”
CHAPTER XXXI
THE FOX AND THE HOUNDS
“The meet of the hounds which took place this morning on the lawn of Glen Druid House stands unparalleled in the history of Irish sport. To begin with, half the country-side attended, and the hounds never turned up at all——”
This extract is from the Tullagh Guardian taken verbatim—and I would quote the whole article, some three columns long, and make it do duty for this chapter, if it were not that the bald facts given by the pressman are such that I have to shave them to make them more presentable.
At a quarter to ten the grounds in front of the Big House were swarming. The thing resembled a village fête in preparation rather than a sporting fixture. Not only was Mr Mahony present, but his wife; not only his wife, but his children.
Widdy Finnegan was also to the fore; and old Mr Finnegan, who never stirred out on any account, unless for a wake, was there on his stick.
Shan Finucane, with Rafter at his heels, was present, and Shan never turned up for a meet of the fox-hounds on any ordinary account. Shepherd’s Cross had vomited its entire population, Tullagh had sent a big contingent; the whole population, except the pigs, the hens, and one bed-ridden individual of Castle Knock, had turned out; and even Castle Connell, a tiny hamlet seven miles away, had sent its representative to swell the crowd. A ragamuffin selling peanuts completed the picture.
Looking and listening, one could not but perceive that there was something on of more sinister and breathless interest than a meet of the fox-hounds. A great joke seemed to have been divided into small pieces amongst the people; even the children had bits of it and there was a hush in the turmoil, a muteness in the clamour which, coupled with bursts of laughter that shook every now and then the whole assembly, might have caused apprehension in the mind of an experienced Resident Magistrate had one been present.