It was the beginning of the hunting season, and with the hunting season

Louis Stanistreet reappeared on the scene. He stayed at Thorneytoft as

usual. Tyson had just bought a new hunter, a remarkable animal. It fell

away suddenly in the hind-quarters; it had a neck like a giraffe and legs

like a spider; but it could jump, if not very like a horse, very like a

kangaroo. This creature struck wonder and terror into the soul of the

hunt. At the first meet of the season Stanistreet, the Master, and Sir

Peter drew up by one accord to watch the antics of Tyson and his

kangaroo.

"By Jove! where does your friend pick up his hunters?" asked the Master.

"If you ask me," said Stanistreet, "I should say he buys them by the

yard."

Sir Peter smiled. The Master stroked his mustache and meditated. There

was a malignity about Stanistreet's humor conceivable enough--if there

was any truth in history. It struck Stanistreet that his feeble jest

met with an amount of attention out of all proportion to its merits. Sir

Peter was the first to recover himself.

"Your friend may buy his horses by the yard, but he doesn't ride like a

tailor. He rides like a man. Look at him--look at him!"

This was generous of Sir Peter, considering what Tyson had said about

his riding. But for all his love of gossip Sir Peter was a gentleman,

and that goose weighed heavily on his conscience. The reproof he had just

administered to Stanistreet relieved him wonderfully.

Stanistreet was at a loss to understand the old fellow's caustic tone.

Over billiards that night Tyson enlightened him.

Louis had been in a good temper all day; and his high spirits had

infected Mrs. Nevill Tyson, a fact which, you may be sure, was not set

down to her credit by those who noticed it.

"I heard your riding praised this morning, Ty," said he, beaming with

beneficence. They were alone.

"Ha!" said Tyson, "did you?"

"Rather. Binfield was asking where you picked your hunters up--got his

eye on the kangaroo, I fancy. I ventured to suggest, in my agreeable way,

that you bought them by the yard."

Tyson looked furious. Louis went on, unconscious of his doom. "Old Morley

went for me like a lunatic--said you didn't ride like a tailor, you rode

like a man. Queer old buffer, Morley--couldn't think what was the

matter with him."

Tyson laid down his cue and held Stanistreet with a leveling gaze.

"Look here, Stanistreet," said he, "I've stood a good deal, but if you

think I'm going to stand that, you're a greater fool than I took you for.

What the hell do you mean by telling everybody about my private affairs?"

"My dear Tyson, a man who rides to hounds regularly on a kangaroo has no

private affairs, he is, ipso facto, a public character." He threw back

his head and shouted his laughter. "You've built yourself an everlasting

name."




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