Drury Lane closed in June and re-opened on the 4th of October; but, as usual, Grimaldi's services were not required until Christmas. He had been in great request at Sadler's Wells; for the season was one of the heaviest the performers had ever known. The two friends were speaking of this one evening, and complaining of their great fatigue, when Bologna recalled to mind that he had a friend residing in Kent who had repeatedly invited him down to his house for a few days' shooting, and to take a friend with him; he proposed, therefore, that he and Grimaldi should go down by way of relaxation. On the 6th of November, accordingly, the friend having been previously apprised of their intention, and having again returned a most pressing invitation, they left town in a gig hired for the purpose.
On the road, Bologna told his friend that the gentleman whom, they were going down to visit was an individual of the name of Mackintosh; that he was understood to be wholly unconnected with any business or profession, that he was a large landed proprietor, and that he had most splendid preserves. The intelligence pleased Grimaldi very much, as he looked forward to a very stylish visit, and felt quite elated with the idea of cultivating the acquaintance of so great a man.
"I have never seen his place myself," said Bologna; "but when he is in London, he is always about the theatres, and he has often asked me to come down and have some shooting."
They were talking thus, when they arrived at Bromley, which was about two miles and a half from the place to which they were bound. Here they met a man in a fustian jacket, driving a tax-cart, drawn by a very lame little horse, who suddenly pulled up, hailed the party with a loud "Hallo!" and a "Well, Joe, here you are!"
Grimaldi was rather surprised at this intimate salutation from a stranger; and he was a little more so when Bologna, after shaking hands very heartily with the man in fustian, introduced him as the identical Mr. Mackintosh whom they were going down to visit.
"I'm glad to see you, Joe," said Mr. Mackintosh with an air of patronage. "I thought I'd meet you here and show you the way."
Grimaldi made some suitable acknowledgments for this politeness, and the tax-cart and the gig went on together.
"I am sorry you have hit upon a bad day for coming down here, so far as the shooting goes," said Mackintosh, "for to-morrow is a general fast. At any rate you can walk about and look at the country; and the next day—the next day—wont we astonish the natives!"
"Are there plenty of birds this year?" inquired Bologna.
"Lots—lots," replied the other man, whose manner and appearance scarce bore out Grimaldi's preconceived notion of the gentleman they were going to visit. If he were already surprised, however, he had much greater cause to be so eventually.