A gamekeeper friend told us, with infinite delight, this quaint little
story. If we are to believe him, he was sitting one fine September day
behind the hedge of a cornfield, thinking about the coveys hidden in
the corn, when he became aware that a lover and his lass were sitting
on the road side of the hedge, directly behind him. They were Cockneys,
and this was the first of their days of country holiday-making.
Presently the lover speaks. "Emma," says he, "just look at this pretty
fly wot's settled on me 'and." "Lor'!" says Emma, "ain't he a daisy?"
A pause follows; the lovers are silently contemplating the beauties
of the fly. Emma suggests he is out for an airing in his racing
colours--yellow and black. Then the lover calls out in a voice of
mingled amusement and pain. "Crikey!" he cries, "ain't 'is feet 'ot?"
* * * * *