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spirit; his only purpose was to hunt the hounds, and
the Peppermores very soon recognized this and did
all they could to help him. To have aroused their
animosity would have been no joke. Once when I
was at a race meeting I happened to be standing
beside Charlie Peppermore when an inferior amateur
rider fell off, rather ignonainiously, at a plain fence
in front of the enclosure. The horse went on alone
and the jockey scrambled to his feet, and as he walked
past us on the other side of the rails Charlie Pepper-
more laughed. It was the most insulting, contemptu-
ous laugh I'd ever heard. Then he turned to me and
drawled: "How I hate that man! I've been waiting
years to see him break his neck."

Of the two, Denis liked Jack the best, and one
Saturday in the middle of November Jack was in-
vited to dinner, with two other young sportsmen
who lived not many miles away. This was an un-
common event at the Kennels, and Mrs. Timson
rolled up her sleeves and prepared a more than
usually solid repast. When we came in from hunting
Denis got out two bottles of champagne and some
full-bodied port. As a rule we drank water, and the
quantity of champagne and port I had consumed in
my whole life could easily have been contained in
half a dozen bottles of each fluid.

"I'm afraid drink isn't too good for old Jack since
that accident of his," remarked Denis, rubbing his
forehead dubiously.

He then told the inscrutable Henry to "get that
dinner on at eight o'clock" and went upstairs to dress
—the occasion demanding the special effort of a
dinner jacket.

Jack arrived alone in his father's brougham—a
means of conveyance which seemed vaguely im-