The next question was how to hunt three or four days a week on four hundred a year, for though I was quite willing to spend my income, I was resolved not to touch my capital.  To begin with, I sold my aunt’s cottage and furniture and took a couple of rooms for the winter at Red Chimneys, a roomy farm-house in the neighborhood of Treydon.  Then, acting on the great principle of co-operation, I joined at horse-keeping with my good friend and old school-fellow, Bertie Alston, a London solicitor.  Being both of us light-weights, we could mount ourselves cheaply; the average cost of our stud of four horses did not exceed forty pounds apiece.  Moreover, when opportunities offered, we did not disdain to turn an honest penny by buying an animal cheap and selling him dear, and as I looked after things myself, bought my own forage, and saw that I had full measure, our stable expenses were kept within moderate limits.  Except when the weather was bad, or a horse hors de combat, I generally contrived to get four days’ hunting a week—­three with the fox-hounds and one with Mr. Vigne’s harriers—­for, owing to his professional engagements, Alston could not go out as often as I did.  But as I took all the trouble and responsibility, it was only fair that I should have the lion’s share of the riding.

At the end of the season we either sold the horses off or turned them into a straw-yard, and I went to sea as ship’s surgeon.  In this capacity I made voyages to Australia, to the Cape, and to the West Indies; and the summer before I first saw Mr. Fortescue I had been to the Arctic Ocean in a whaler.  True, the pay did not amount to much, but it found me in pocket-money and clothes, and I saved my keep.

Having now, as I hope, done with digressions and placed myself en rapport with my readers, I will return to the principal personage of my story.

The next time I met Mr. Fortescue was at Harlow Bush.  He was quite as well mounted as before, and accompanied, as usual, by Rawlings and two grooms with their second horses.  On this occasion Mr. Fortescue did not hold himself nearly so much aloof as he had done at Matching Green, perhaps because he was more noticed; and he was doubtless more noticed because the fame of his wealth and the lavish use he made of it were becoming more widely known.  The master gave him a friendly nod and a gracious smile, and expressed a hope that we should have good sport; the secretary engaged him in a lively conversation; the hunt servants touched their caps to him with profound respect, and he received greetings from most of the swells.

We drew Latton, found in a few minutes, and had a “real good thing,” a grand run of nearly two hours, with only one or two trifling checks, which, as I am not writing a hunting story, I need not describe any further than to remark that we had plenty of fencing, a good deal of hard galloping, a kill in the open, and that of the sixty or seventy who were present at the start only about a score were up at the finish.  Among the fortunate few were Mr. Fortescue and his pilot.  During the latter part of the run we rode side by side, and pulled up at the same instant, just as the fox was rolled over.