(A few minutes later.)
Second Sp. (to the host). What was the bag to-day, Chalmers?
Chalmers. A hundred and forty-five pheasants, fifty-six rabbits, eleven hares, three pigeons, and a woodcock. We should have got a hundred and eighty pheasants if they hadn't dodged us in the big wood. I can't make out where they went.
Second Sp. It's a deuced difficult wood to beat, that is. I thought we should have got more hares, all the same.
Chalmers. Hares! I think I'm precious lucky to get so many nowadays. There won't be a hare left in a year or two.
(The discussion proceeds.)
Third Sp. How's old Johnny Raikes shooting this year? I never saw such a chap for rocketers. They can't escape him.
Chalmers. I asked him to-day, but he couldn't come. I think for pheasants he's quite the best shot in England. Nobody can beat him at that game.
Fourth Sp. Hasn't he got some row or other on with Crackside?
Chalmers. Yes. That makes fourteen rows Crackside has got going on all at once. He seems to revel in them. His latest move was to refuse to pay tithe, and when the parson levied a distress, he made all his tenants drunk and walked at their head blowing a post-horn. He's as mad as a hatter.