I was staying with my old friend Sir HENRY HURTUS last winter at
his ancestral home in Yorkshire. We had been shooting all day with
indifferent results, and were returning home fagged and weary with our
rifles over our shoulders. I ought to have mentioned that COODENT--of
course, you remember Captain COODENT, R.N.--was of the party. Ever
since he had found his legs so much admired by an appreciative public,
he had worn a kilt without stockings, in order to show them. This,
however, was not done from vanity, I think, but rather from a high
sense of duty, for he felt that those who happened to be born with
personal advantages ought not to be deterred by any sense of false
modesty from gratifying the reading public by their display. Lord, how
we had laughed to see him struggling through the clinging brambles
in Sir HENRY's coverts with his eye-glass in his eye and his Express
at the trail. At every step his unfortunate legs had been more and
more torn, until there was literally not a scrap of sound skin upon
them anywhere. Even the beaters, a stolid lot, had roared when old
VELVETEENS the second keeper had brought up to poor COODENT a lump of
flesh from his right leg, which he had found sticking on a thorn-bush
in the centre of the high covert. Suddenly Sir HENRY stopped and
shaded his eyes with his hand anxiously. We all imitated him, though
for my part, not being a sportsman, I had no notion what was up.
"What's the time of day, Sir HENRY?" I ventured to whisper. Sir HENRY
never looked at me, but took out his massive gold Winchester repeater
and consulted it in a low voice. "Four thirty," I heard him say, "they
are about due." Suddenly there was a whirring noise in the distance.
"Duck, duck!" shouted Sir HENRY, now thoroughly aroused. I immediately
did so, ducked right down in fact, for I did not know what might be
coming, and I am a very timid man. At that moment I heard a joint
report from Sir HENRY and COODENT. It gave on the whole a very
favourable view of the situation, and by its light I saw six fine
mallard, four teal and three widgeon come hurtling down, as dead as so
many door-nails, and much heavier on the top of my prostrate body.
When I recovered Sir HENRY was bending over me and pouring brandy down
my throat. COODENT was sitting on the ground binding up his legs. "My
dear old friend," said Sir HENRY, in his kindest tone, "this Yorkshire
is too dangerous. My mind is made up. This very night we all start for
Mariannakookaland. There at least our lives will be safe."