_The Competitors_. STELLA, my dear, _mustn't_ Miss GRISSELL tell her
kitten not to claw my Tortoise's head every time he pokes his poor
nose out? It isn't fair, and it's damping all his enthusiasm!... Now,
Colonel KEMPTON, it isn't the Puppy's fault--you _know_ your Rabbit
began it!... Hi, STELLA, hold on a bit, my Mutton wants to lie down.
Mayn't I kick it up!... DUFF, old chap, your Goose is dragging her
anchor again, back her engines a bit, or there'll be a foul.... Miss
STELLA, I--I really _don't_ think this Monkey is quite well--his teeth
are chattering in such a _very_.... All right, _padre_, only his nasty
temper--jerk the beggar's chain. More than _that_!
_Chorus of Spectators at Lodge Gates_. My word, I wonder what next the
gentry'll be up to, I dew. Ain't Miss STELLA orderin' of 'en about!
Now she's started 'en. They ain't not allowed to go 'ittin of 'en--got
to go just wheeriver the animiles want. Lor, the guse is takin _his_
genlm'n in among the treeses! Well, if iver I did! That theer tartus
gits along, don't he? Passon don't seem com'fable along o' that
monkey. I'll back the young sailor gent--keeps that sheep wunnerful
stiddy, he do. There's the hold peacock puttin' on a bust now. Well,
well, these be fine doin's for 'Auberk 'All, and no mistake. Make old
Sir HALBERD stare if he was 'ere, &c., &c.
_The Colonel_ (_wrathfully to his Rabbit, which will do nothing but
run round and round him_). Stop that, will you, you little fool. Do
you want to trip me up! Of all the dashed nonsense I ever--!
_Mrs. Bangs_. My! Colonel, you do seem to have got hold of a pretty
insubordinate kind of a Rabbit, too!
_The Colonel_ (_looking round_). Well, you aren't getting much pace
out of your Tortoise either, if it comes to that!
_Mrs. Bangs_. He puts in most of his time in stoppages for rest
and refreshment. I'm beginning to believe that old fable's a fraud.
Anyway, it's my opinion this Tortoise isn't going to beat any
hare--unless it's a jugged one.
_Dick Gatling_ (_in front, as his Sheep halts to crop the turf in
a leisurely manner_). We've not pulled up--only lying-to to take in
supplies. We're going ahead directly. There, what did I tell you! Now
she's tacking!
_The Curate_ (_in the rear_). Poo' little Jacko, then--there, there,
quietly now! Miss STELLA, what does it mean when it gibbers like that?
(_Sotto voce._) I wonder, if I let go the chain--
_Mr. Duff_ (_hauling his Goose towards Miss CHAFFERS_). It's no
use--_I_ can't keep this beast from bolting off the course!
_Miss C._ Do keep it away from my Puppy, at all events. I _know_ it
will peck him, and he's perfectly happy licking my shoe--he's found
out there's sugar-candy in the varnish.
_Mr. Duff_ (_solemnly_). Yes, but I _say_, you know--that's all very
well, but it's not making him _race_, is it? Now I _am_ getting some
running out of my Goose.
_Miss C._ Rather in-and-out-running, isn't it? (_Cries of distress
from the rear._) But what is the matter now? That poor dear Curate
again!
_The Curate_ (_in agony_). Here, I say, somebody! _do_ help me! Miss
STELLA, do speak to your monkey, please! It's jumped on my back, and
it's pulling my hair--'ow!
[_Most of the Competitors abandon their animals and rush to
the rescue._
_Dick Gatling_ (_coming up later_). Why on earth did you all jack
up like that? You've missed a splendid finish! My Mutton was forging
ahead like fun, when FANSHAWE's Peacock hoisted his sail, and drew
alongside, and it was neck and neck. Only, as he had more neck than
the Mutton, and stuck it out, he won by a beak. Look here, let's have
it all over again!
[_But the Monkey being up a tree, and the Colonel having
surreptitiously got rid of his Rabbit among the bracken,
and the Tortoise having retired within his shell and firmly
declined to come out again, sport is abandoned for the
afternoon, to the scarcely disguised relief of the Curate,
who is prevented from remaining to tea by the pressure of
parish-work._
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE ONLY MAN IN ROTTEN ROW.