The Meeting at "The Bobtailed Fox"
It was now the middle of December, and matters were not comfortable
in the Runnymede country. The Major with much pluck had carried on
his operations in opposition to the wishes of the resident members of
the hunt. The owners of coverts had protested, and farmers had sworn
that he should not ride over their lands. There had even been some
talk among the younger men of thrashing him if he persevered. But he
did persevere, and had managed to have one or two good runs. Now it
was the fortune of the Runnymede hunt that many of those who rode
with the hounds were strangers to the country,--men who came down by
train from London, gentlemen of perhaps no great distinction, who
could ride hard, but as to whom it was thought that as they did not
provide the land to ride over, or the fences to be destroyed, or the
coverts for the foxes, or the greater part of the subscription, they
ought not to oppose those by whom all these things were supplied. But
the Major, knowing where his strength lay, had managed to get a party
to support him. The contract to hunt the country had been made with
him in last March, and was good for one year. Having the kennels and
the hounds under his command he did hunt the country; but he did so
amidst a storm of contumely and ill will.
At last it was decided that a general meeting of the members of the
hunt should be called together with the express object of getting rid
of the Major. The gentlemen of the neighbourhood felt that the Major
was not to be borne, and the farmers were very much stronger against
him than the gentlemen. It had now become a settled belief among
sporting men in England that the Major had with his own hands driven
the nail into the horse's foot. Was it to be endured that the
Runnymede farmers should ride to hounds under a Master who had been
guilty of such an iniquity as that? "The Staines and Egham Gazette,"
which had always supported the Runnymede hunt, declared in very plain
terms that all who rode with the Major were enjoying their sport out
of the plunder which had been extracted from Lord Silverbridge. Then
a meeting was called for Saturday, the 18th December, to be held at
that well-known sporting little inn The Bobtailed Fox. The members of
the hunt were earnestly called upon to attend. It was,--so said the
printed document which was issued,--the only means by which the hunt
could be preserved. If gentlemen who were interested did not put
their shoulders to the wheel, the Runnymede hunt must be regarded
as a thing of the past. One of the documents was sent to the Major
with an intimation that if he wished to attend no objection would be
made to his presence. The chair would be taken at half-past twelve
punctually by that popular and well-known old sportsman Mr. Mahogany
Topps.
Was ever the Master of a hunt treated in such a way! His presence not
objected to! As a rule the Master of a hunt does not attend hunt
meetings, because the matter to be discussed is generally that of the
money to be subscribed for him, as to which it is as well he should
not hear the pros and cons. But it is presumed that he is to be the
hero of the hour, and that he is to be treated to his face, and
spoken of behind his back, with love, admiration, and respect. But
now this Master was told his presence would be allowed! And then
this fox-hunting meeting was summoned for half-past twelve on a
hunting-day;--when, as all the world knew, the hounds were to meet at
eleven, twelve miles off! Was ever anything so base? said the Major
to himself. But he resolved that he would be equal to the occasion.
He immediately issued cards to all the members, stating that on that
day the meet had been changed from Croppingham Bushes, which was ever
so much on the other side of Bagshot, to The Bobtailed Fox,--for the
benefit of the hunt at large, said the card,--and that the hounds
would be there at half-past one.
Whatever might happen, he must show a spirit. In all this there were
one or two of the London brigade who stood fast to him. "Cock your
tail, Tifto," said one hard-riding supporter, "and show 'em you
aren't afraid of nothing." So Tifto cocked his tail and went to the
meeting in his best new scarlet coat, with his whitest breeches, his
pinkest boots, and his neatest little bows at his knees. He entered
the room with his horn in his hand, as a symbol of authority, and
took off his hunting-cap to salute the assembly with a jaunty air. He
had taken two glasses of cherry brandy, and as long as the stimulant
lasted would no doubt be able to support himself with audacity.
Old Mr. Topps, in rising from his chair, did not say very much. He
had been hunting in the Runnymede country for nearly fifty years, and
had never seen anything so sad as this before. It made him, he knew,
very unhappy. As for foxes, there were always plenty of foxes in his
coverts. His friend Mr. Jawstock, on the right, would explain what
all this was about. All he wanted was to see the Runnymede hunt
properly kept up. Then he sat down, and Mr. Jawstock rose to his
legs.
Mr. Jawstock was a gentleman well known in the Runnymede country,
who had himself been instrumental in bringing Major Tifto into these
parts. There is often someone in a hunting country who never becomes
a Master of hounds himself, but who has almost as much to say about
the business as the Master himself. Sometimes at hunt meetings he is
rather unpopular, as he is always inclined to talk. But there are
occasions on which his services are felt to be valuable,--as were Mr.
Jawstock's at present. He was about forty-five years of age, was not
much given to riding, owned no coverts himself, and was not a man of
wealth; but he understood the nature of hunting, knew all its laws,
and was a judge of horses, of hounds,--and of men; and could say a
thing when he had to say it.
Mr. Jawstock sat on the right hand of Mr. Topps, and a place was left
for the Master opposite. The task to be performed was neither easy
nor pleasant. It was necessary that the orator should accuse the
gentleman opposite to him,--a man with whom he himself had been very
intimate,--of iniquity so gross and so mean, that nothing worse can
be conceived. "You are a swindler, a cheat, a rascal of the very
deepest dye;--a rogue so mean that it is revolting to be in the same
room with you!" That was what Mr. Jawstock had to say. And he said
it. Looking round the room, occasionally appealing to Mr. Topps,
who on these occasions would lift up his hands in horror, but never
letting his eye fall for a moment on the Major, Mr. Jawstock told his
story. "I did not see it done," said he. "I know nothing about it. I
never was at Doncaster in my life. But you have evidence of what the
Jockey Club thinks. The Master of our Hunt has been banished from
racecourses." Here there was considerable opposition, and a few short
but excited little dialogues were maintained;--throughout all which
Tifto restrained himself like a Spartan. "At any rate he has been
thoroughly disgraced," continued Mr. Jawstock, "as a sporting man. He
has been driven out of the Beargarden Club." "He resigned in disgust
at their treatment," said a friend of the Major's. "Then let him
resign in disgust at ours," said Mr. Jawstock, "for we won't have him
here. Cæsar wouldn't keep a wife who was suspected of infidelity, nor
will the Runnymede country endure a Master of Hounds who is supposed
to have driven a nail into a horse's foot."
Two or three other gentlemen had something to say before the Major
was allowed to speak,--the upshot of the discourse of all of them
being the same. The Major must go.
Then the Major got up, and certainly as far as attention went he
had full justice done him. However clamorous they might intend to
be afterwards that amount of fair play they were all determined
to afford him. The Major was not excellent at speaking, but he
did perhaps better than might have been expected. "This is a very
disagreeable position," he said, "very disagreeable indeed. As for
the nail in the horse's foot I know no more about it than the babe
unborn. But I've got two things to say, and I'll say what aren't the
most consequence first. These hounds belong to me." Here he paused,
and a loud contradiction came from many parts of the room. Mr.
Jawstock, however, proposed that the Major should be heard to the
end. "I say they belong to me," repeated the Major. "If anybody
tries his hand at anything else the law will soon set that to rights.
But that aren't of much consequence. What I've got to say is this.
Let the matter be referred. If that 'orse had a nail run into his
foot,--and I don't say he hadn't,--who was the man most injured? Why,
Lord Silverbridge. Everybody knows that. I suppose he dropped well on
to eighty thousand pounds! I propose to leave it to him. Let him say.
He ought to know more about it than any one. He and I were partners
in the horse. His Lordship aren't very sweet upon me just at present.
Nobody need fear that he'll do me a good turn. I say leave it to
him."
In this matter the Major had certainly been well advised. A rumour
had become prevalent among sporting circles that Silverbridge had
refused to condemn the Major. It was known that he had paid his bets
without delay, and that he had, to some extent, declined to take
advice from the leaders of the Jockey Club. The Major's friends were
informed that the young lord had refused to vote against him at the
club. Was it not more than probable that if this matter were referred
to him he would refuse to give a verdict against his late partner?
The Major sat down, put on his cap, and folded his arms akimbo,
with his horn sticking out from his left hand. For a time there was
general silence, broken, however, by murmurs in different parts of
the room. Then Mr. Jawstock whispered something into the ear of the
Chairman, and Mr. Topps, rising from his seat, suggested to Tifto
that he should retire. "I think so," said Mr. Jawstock. "The
proposition you have made can be discussed only in your absence."
Then the Major held a consultation with one of his friends, and after
that did retire.
When he was gone the real hubbub of the meeting commenced. There were
some there who understood the nature of Lord Silverbridge's feelings
in the matter. "He would be the last man in England to declare him
guilty," said Mr. Jawstock. "Whatever my lord says, he shan't ride
across my land," said a farmer in the background. "I don't think
any gentleman ever made a fairer proposition,--since anything was
anything," said a friend of the Major's, a gentleman who kept
livery stables in Long Acre. "We won't have him here," said another
farmer,--whereupon Mr. Topps shook his head sadly. "I don't think
any gentleman ought to be condemned without a 'earing," said one
of Tifto's admirers, "and where you're to get any one to hunt the
country like him, I don't know as any body is prepared to say."
"We'll manage that," said a young gentleman from the neighbourhood of
Bagshot, who thought that he could hunt the country himself quite as
well as Major Tifto. "He must go from here; that's the long and the
short of it," said Mr. Jawstock. "Put it to the vote, Mr. Jawstock,"
said the livery-stable keeper. Mr. Topps, who had had great
experience in public meetings, hereupon expressed an opinion that
they might as well go to a vote. No doubt he was right if the matter
was one which must sooner or later be decided in that manner.
Mr. Jawstock looked round the room trying to calculate what might
be the effect of a show of hands. The majority was with him; but he
was well aware that of this majority some few would be drawn away by
the apparent justice of Tifto's proposition. And what was the use of
voting? Let them vote as they might, it was out of the question that
Tifto should remain Master of the hunt. But the chairman had acceded,
and on such occasions it is difficult to go against the chairman.
Then there came a show of hands,--first for those who desired to
refer the matter to Lord Silverbridge, and afterwards for Tifto's
direct enemies,--for those who were anxious to banish Tifto out of
hand, without reference to any one. At last the matter was settled.
To the great annoyance of Mr. Jawstock and the farmers, the meeting
voted that Lord Silverbridge should be invited to give his opinion as
to the innocence or guilt of his late partner.
The Major's friends carried the discussion out to him as he sat on
horseback, as though he had altogether gained the battle and was
secure in his position as Master of the Runnymede Hunt for the next
dozen years. But at the same time there came a message from Mr.
Mahogany Topps. It was now half-past two, and Mr. Topps expressed
a hope that Major Tifto would not draw the country on the present
occasion. The Major, thinking that it might be as well to conciliate
his enemies, rode solemnly and slowly home to Tallyho Lodge in the
middle of his hounds.