manner of the young, human and canine, not failed to distribute their
malady among their elders, and the pack, straitly coupled, went for
dismal constitutionals, and the kennels reeked to heaven of remedies,
and Freddy's new hunter, Mayboy, from shortness of work, smashed the
partition of the loose box and kicked his neighbour, Mrs. Alexander's
cob, in the knee.

"The worst of it is," said Freddy confidentially to his ally and
adviser, the junior subaltern of the detachment at Enniscar, who had
come over to see the hounds, "that I'm afraid Patsey Crimmeen--the boy
whom I'm training to whip to me, you know"--(as a matter of fact, the
Whip was a year older than the Master)--"is beginning to drink a bit.
When I came down here before breakfast this mornin'"--when Freddy was
feeling more acutely than usual his position as an M.F.H., he cut his
g's and talked slightly through his nose, even, on occasion, going so
far as to omit the aspirate in talking of his hounds--"there wasn't a
sign of him--kennel door not open or anything. I let the poor brutes out
into the run. I tell you, what with the paraffin and the carbolic and
everything the kennel was pretty high--"

"It's pretty thick now," said his friend, lighting a cigarette.

"Well, I went into the boiler-house," continued Freddy impressively,
"and there he was, asleep on the floor, with his beastly head on my
kennel coat, and one leg in the feeding trough!"

Mr. Taylour made a suitable ejaculation.

"I jolly soon kicked him on to his legs," went on Freddy, "not that they
were much use to him--he must have been on the booze all night. After