round game followed tea; which, in its turn, was succeeded by a massive
silver tray, chiefly decorated with cold water and tumblers; and as the
various independent clocks in the drawing-room began chiming and striking
eleven, Mr. Jawleyford thought he would try to get rid of Foozle by asking
him if he hadn't better stay all night.

'Yes, I think I'd better stay all night,' replied Foozle.

'But won't they be expecting you at home, Robert?' asked Jawleyford, not
feeling disposed to be caught in his own trap.

'Yes, they'll be expecting me at home,' replied Foozle.

'Then, perhaps you had better not alarm them by staying,' suggested
Jawleyford.

'No, perhaps I'd better not alarm them by staying,' repeated Foozle.
Whereupon they all rose, and wishing him a very good night, Jawleyford
handed him over to Spigot, who transferred him to one footman, who passed
him to another, to button into his leather-headed shandridan.

After talking Robert over, and expatiating on the misfortune it would be to
have such a boy, Jawleyford rang the bell for the banquet of water to be
taken away; and ordering breakfast half-an-hour earlier than usual, our
friends went to bed.

CHAPTER XXII

THE F.H.H. AGAIN

Gentlemen unaccustomed to public hunting often make queer figures of
themselves when they go out. We have seen them in all sorts of odd dresses,
half fox-hunters half fishermen, half fox-hunters half sailors, with now
and then a good sturdy cross of the farmer.

Mr. Jawleyford was a cross between a military dandy and a squire. The
green-and-gold Bumperkin foraging-cap, with the letters 'B.Y.C.' in front,
was cocked jauntily on one side of his badger-pyed head, while he played
sportively with the patent leather strap--now, toying with it on his lip,
now dropping it below his chin, now hitching it up on to the peak. He had a
tremendously stiff stock on--so hard that no pressure made it wrinkle, and
so high that his pointed gills could hardly peer above it. His coat was a
bright green cut-away--made when collars were worn very high and very
hollow, and when waists were supposed to be about the middle of a man's
back, Jawleyford's back buttons occupying that remarkable position. These,
which were of dead gold with a bright rim, represented a hare full stretch
for her life, and were the buttons of the old Muggeridge hunt--a hunt that
had died many years ago from want of the necessary funds (80_l_.) to carry
it on. The coat, w