, belt,
blouse, gloves, and all the rest of it. D'ye think that sort means
volunteer scouting only? Not a bit of it. Mean playing the game, Sir,
and having regular teams of their own.

_Second A.B._ Look at her! She's a speaking to the Grand Old Champion
himself!

_First A.B._ Giving him a bit of her mind, you bet. What's that she's
saying?

_Second A.B._ Why, that she admires his style immensely, and doesn't
want to spoil his game; but that, _after_ the next great All England
Match, if not sooner, they mean to have a team of their own and go in
for the game all round!

_First A.B._ Ah, what did I say?

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE POLITICAL LADY-CRICKETERS.

_Lady Cricketer._ "A TEAM OF OUR OWN? I SHOULD THINK SO! IF WE'RE GOOD
ENOUGH TO SCOUT FOR YOU, WHY SHOULDN'T WE TAKE A TURN AT THE BAT?"]

* * * * *

CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER.

NO. X.--THE DUFFER ON THE TURF.

"A horse for a protection is a deceitful thing," as the Scotch
translator of KING DAVID has it, and I entirely agree with him. I
rather wish to be protected from a horse, than expect any succour
from a creature so large, muscular and irrational. Far from being
"courageous," as his friends say, the horse (I am not speaking of the
war-horse) is afraid of almost everything, that is why I am afraid
of him. He is a most nervous animal, and I am a nervous rider. He is
afraid of a bicycle or a wheel-barrow, which do not alarm the most
timid bipeds, and when he is afraid he shies, and when he shies I no
longer remain. Irrational he is, or he would not let people ride him,
however, I never met a horse that would let _me_ do so. It is with the
horse as an instrument of gambling that I am concerned. In that sense
I have "backed" him, in no other sense to any satisfactory result.
With all his four legs he stumbles more than one does with only
a pair, an extraordinary proof of his want of harmony with his
environment.

I was beguiled on to the Turf by winning a small family
sweepstakes--L3 in fact. A sporting cousin told me that I had better
"put it on _Cauliflower_," who was the favourite for The City and
Suburban. He put it on _Cauliflower_ for me, and we won, so that a
career of easy opulence seemed open. Then I took to backing horses,
a brief madness. I read all the sporting papers, and came to the
conclusion that the prophets are naught. If you look at their
vaticinations, you will find