The White Hat and other stories ... Illustrations by the Author

Front matter

ARROWSMITH'S 3/6 SERIES. THREE MEN IN A BOAT Jerome K. Jerome. Yol. I. (TO SAY NOTHING OF THE DOG). Yol. II. Eden Phillpotts. THE END OF A LIFE DIARY OF A PILGRIMAGE Jerome K. Jerome. Yol, III. Grant Allen, RECALLED TO LIFE Yol. IY. Max O'Rell. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA Yol. Y. L. A. Weatherly AND J. N. Maskelyne. THE SUPERNATURAL ? AND Yol. YI. THE WHITE HAT Finch Mason. Yol. YII. Bristol: J. W. Arrowsmith, 11 Quay Street. London ■ Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Limited. A Cracker over the Grass. The Bishop of . Copyright. Entered at Stationers' Hall THE WHITE HAT AND OTHER STORIES BY FINCH MASON AUTHOR OF "sporting recollections," "flowers of the hunt" etc. fUnet£=fout bg tbe Sutbor BRISTOL J. W. Arrowsmith, ii Quay Street LONDON Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Limited NOTICE.

The following stories, viz : " The Vicissitudes of a Hack"; "How Miss Brown Went to the Derby"; "Little Fairy"; and "Got At" have already appeared in the columns of the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, to the courtesy of whose proprietor the author is indebted for per mission to republish them. CONTENTS. Page THE WHITE HAT I VICISSITUDES OF A HACK l8 HOW MISS BROWN WENT TO THE DERBY. 45 LITTLE FAIRY 65 A HOUSE IN THE COUNTRY 8l GOT AT 141 THE QUEEN OF THE ARENA 167 UNCLE BEN 2I3 A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS. . . . 234 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. . . 245 GAME TO THE LAST 279 THE BISHOP OF THE WHITE HAT ftlje SBfcit* gat. DON'T know why, I'm sure, but I should no more have dreamt of buying such an article as a White Hat than flying over the moon, if it had not been for Her. When I say Her, I allude to the fair but fickle Julia.

But when one night at her father's house she informed me, in that imperious, " contradict-me-if-you-dare " sort of manner of hers, that it was her express desire that I should appear at Goodwood, whither I was to have the honour of ac companying her the following week, with a head covering in the shape of a white hat with a black band, how could I do otherwise than go and pur chase one at once, if not sooner ? 2 * In vain I told her that only dark people (I am fair) looked well under a white hat. She replied, flippantly, that in her opinion such a hat would suit my carroty hair and little snub nosetoaT! "Besides," she added, " it will remind me of that darling little inkpot dear Cousin Charlie gave me on my birthday." She alluded to a vulgar little article, price about half-a-crown, possibly not so much — a white hat of the shape you see on a betting-man's head, with an inkpot fitted inside.

Chapter I

"Xtttle -ffarrs's" -first Meet, HY, where's little Fairy? " "What has become of little Fairy? " Such were the cries that were heard on all sides from both high and low when, at the meet of Mr. Arkwright's Hounds at Doll man's Heath on a certain Decem ber morning, the Master was seen riding up with out his child companion at his side. He looked graver than usual, too, it was noticed, as he exchanged his hack for his hunter and greeted his friends, and the reason quickly went round. Little Fair}- was ill. 6* And then a gloom seemed to fall over the whole hunt ; and really you would have thought that little Fairy was the daughter or sister of each individual sportsman there assembled. And now, who was this little Fairy that every body was in such distress about ? Well, she was the seven-year-old daughter and only child of the master of the Hounds.

When, some three years before, Mr. Arkwright — the Squire, as he was always called — had the misfortune to lose his wife, on whom he doted, he at once concentrated all his affection on his little Dora. A shy, reserved man at all times, even to his intimates, he "unbent" in the presence of his baby daughter as he never condescended to elsewhere. Small Dora was indeed a comfort to him in his affliction. The family doctor, a shrewd old Scotchman, expressed his opinion, indeed, very freely, that had it not been for the bright little lassie, as he called Dora, and the hounds, he would not have given much for the Squire's reason or his life either. And he would add : " The latter, sir, would na' have bin a particle o' use without the former ; but the two combined formed, you understand, a most useful combee nation — more useful, indeed, than all the doctors' prescriptions put together."

And we have not the slightest doubt in our own mind that the worthy medico was perfectly right. Well, time went on, and Mr. Arkwright and his little daughter grew more inseparable than ever ; and at last came the day — a red-letter day in both their calendars, you may depend — when Miss Dora was to make her first appearance in the hunting field. Then it was that old Ralph Duckworth, of the Wild Farm, when he beheld Dora cantering up to the meet on her pony, arrayed in a scarlet riding-habit and velvet hunting-cap, with her golden tresses flying in the breeze, declared that if ever he saw a fairy out of a " picter-book," the pretty dear was that article. And as Ralph was reckoned an oracle in those parts, Dora was known hereafter as "Little Fairy." Even her father adopted the name. And what a dear little Fairy it was !

" How do, Tom ? " was her greeting always to the huntsman. " How do, dear hounds? " to the pack. She would then kiss her hand to the company generally, in response to their salutes, like the miniature queen she was. And now she was ill — poor little Fairy ! Of all the members of Mr. Arkwright's hunt present that day, none felt the absence of Fairy so much as George Clayton, a dashing young sabreur in Her Majesty's regiment of Hussars. It was curious the attachment there was going to the Meet. between the two, notwithstanding their disparity in years ; for, when at home on leave, no knight was ever more constant in his attentions to his ladye love than was dear Doddy, as Fairy always called him, to his child sweetheart. Like her other slave, her father, George never seemed to look upon her in any other light than that of a grown-up young woman, and treated her as such in the gravest possible manner, much to the amusement of the lookers on.

Yes, Doddy was very sad that day, you may depend. It certainly seemed, too, as if Fairy's enforced absence from the meet brought bad luck to the pack; for though they drew and drew covert after covert, the hounds never found all the morning, and at two o'clock Mr. Arkwright, as a rule loath to go home, announced his intention of doing so. " And you '11 come with me, won't you, George ? " said he, looking wistfully at the young soldier. " I know," and there was a falter in his voice as he spoke, " she will like to see you." " Of course I will," was the reply ; and the pair accordingly rode off. The old Scotch doctor before mentioned met them at the door as they rode up to the house an hour afterwards. " I 'm glad to see ye both, and you especially," said he, glancing significantly at George.

" The r- LITTLE FAIRY. puir little lassie 's verra, verra ill. 1 fear the worst," he whispered to the hussar, touching his arm as he spoke; "but it's joost possible your prisince may work wonders with the little woman." And then they went upstairs. Of course, the servants were all in tears; for the}' had quite made up their minds that Miss Dora must die. "Silly ldjuts!" observed Doctor Mackintosh contemptuously, as, accompanied by Mr. Ark wright, he motioned them to be silent, and entered the sick-room. Five minutes afterwards the distracted father, looking twenty years older than he had in the morning, opened the door noiselessly and beck oned to his friend. She's asking for you, George," hewhimpered. " How do, dear Doddy ? ' said poor little Fairy, as George sank on his knees by the bed.

" Tiss me, Doddy. I "ike you to t*S5 me in your yed toat, you know I do. You "ook so pretty m your yed toat." And George clasped the tiny frame in his arms, and the child's glorious golden hair fell all over his face as lie kissed her passionately over and over again. The doctor at last touched him on the shoulder, ami lit gently disengaged himself. "1 must go now, deai Fair\," whispered he, trying hard to restrain the tears that would somehow come. " No, don't do, Doddy," remonstrated the child. " I feel so tired, and I 'ike peeping on your yed toat." Once more she nestled her head against his breast, and appeared to be going to sleep. Then suddenly she brightened up, and held her small finger up in her old imperious way. " Doddy dear," she whispered. " What, my darling ? ' " I s'all be oor little 'ife some day, s'an't I, dear Doddy ?

" " Yes, dear little child " Dood-night, Doddy ! If this had been a stage play, at this period the organ (which, of course, would have been con veniently situated in the next room) would have struck up a solemn air calculated to give one the "creeps"; angels' voices would have been heard in the distance ; more angels would be seen hover ing round the ceiling ; the limelight would have been turned full on the face of the sleeping — ■ or rather, dead child ; for, of course, on the stage they are never by any chance allowed to recover — and nothing would be heard but the sobs and sniffs from the dress and upper circles, the pit and the gallery. (The stalls and private boxes never give way to their feelings — it 's either not the correct thing, or else they haven't got any.) But this is only a commonplace story.

There fore, possibly the reader will not be surprised to hear that, thanks to the skill of Doctor Mackintosh, little Fairy — notwithstanding that the domestics, headed by her old nurse, one and all agreed amongst themselves that poor Miss Dora was "going 'ome, poor lamb ! " and I believe, fond as they were of her, were rather disappointed that she didn't — eventually battled successfully with the fever, so successfully, indeed, that she was able to write her dear Doddy a pretty letter, wishing him good-bye and au revoir, just before he sailed to join his regiment in India.

Chapter II

Zen fcai-0 after, /AGA IN a meet of Mr. Arkwright's Hounds at Doll man's Heath. , The scene is not changed in the least. Still the same disreputablelooking old beerhouse, kept by one Jonathan Myler ; still the same cluster of tumble-down cottages, not forget ting the usual accompaniment of slouching, poachi fied-looking men, slatternly women, and ragged children, who always turn out en masse on these occasions. The old white horse is there too, dirtier than ever (nobody ever yet saw a common without a dirty old white horse browsing upon it), and the usual donkey, and the usual ducks and fowls. If the scene is not changed, though, the actors are. Who, for instance, is this who rides up all smiles to the meet ? Can this be our old friend, Mr. Arkwright ? Yes, it is none other. But how altered !

He is greyer and stouter than of yore; but his face has lost the pained expression it had ten years ago, and he looks twice as young in consequence. And who is the lovely girl with the fair hair, attired in the brown habit, who rides by his side, sitting her bay hunter with the ease that none but a perfect horsewoman could assume ? Can this be the little girl whom old Ralph Duckworth, of the Wild Farm, years ago christened " Little Fairy," grown into a charming woman ? She do2s not say " How do, dear hounds ? " to the pack as in the old days, and she does not kiss her hand as the old original little Fairy was wont to, in response to the salutations she received as she rode up; but it is "Miss Fairy," as she is now called, for all that. And, pray, avIio is the military-looking man, faultlessly attired in pink, who accompanies the M.F.H. and his fair daughter, and whose bronzed face tells of service under Eastern suns ?

Surely this is not little Fairy's devoted slave and admirer, George Clayton, the old original Doddy ! Indeed, it is though. Major Clayton now, if you please ; and apparently just as much a slave us ever, judging at least by the way Miss Ark wright orders him about. Hark at him, the sly fellow ! As he gets off his hack and proceeds to tighten his ladye love's girths ere he gets upon his hunter, he reminds her that the last time he came to a meet at Dollman's Heath they had a blank day. "You were away ill, Fairy, do you remember ? " " Was I, Doddy ? Fancy, now, your recollect ing all that ! Ten years ago, too ! Why, I should have thought you had forgotten it long ago." Forgotten it, indeed ! You little hypocrite ! Had either of you forgotten it ? Well, if Mr. Arkwright's hounds had a blank day on that occasion, it is very certain they did not on this ; for they had the run of the season, the very fastest thing they had so far since the first of November.

Fifty-five minutes as hard as ever they could go, with only one check, and winding up with a kill in the open. They finished a long way from home, and the December evening was closing in, and the rooks and the woodpigeons were thinking of going to bed, as Doddy and Miss Arkwright on their tired steeds rode slowly along towards home. They were all by themselves, for somehow or another they had managed to part company in the most natural way possible with papa and the hounds. "What are you thinking of, Doddy? " inquired Fairy, after a long silence, " Is it any use," con- The Run of the Season. tinued she, laughingly, " my offering you a penny for your thoughts, sir ? " "No; I'll tell you without that, Fairy," said Doddy. " I was thinking, do you know, of that time, just ten years ago, when you were so ill and wer — weren't expected to live, dear Fairy.

Do you remember ? " His voice got very low just now and trembled somewhat. "Yes, Doddy," said she simply, looking up into his face; "oh yes, I remember it so well, and how you came to see me in your red coat, and were so kind and " The tears were in Fairy's eyes now. Doddy finished the story for her, and somehow or other, as he did so, his arm crept round her waist and her head fell upon his scarlet shoulder as naturally as possible — oh yes, quite naturally. And this is what he said : "Yes, dear Fairy, you are quite right. I came to see you in my red coat, and you nestled your head upon my breast, just as you are doing now, Fairy ; and you said to me in your childish way, 'I shall be your little wife some day, shan't I, dear Doddy ? ' Fairy, my own darling, will you be my little wife — some day ?

" *■ And do you know Fairy never so much as answered him, which was very unkind of her; but then, you know, there is an old saying, and very often a true one — viz., that " Silence gives consent." And we may presume that that is exactly what happened in this case ; for when Mr. Arkwright's hounds met two days afterwards, everybody was apparently speaking at once and on one topic. And this is what everybody said : " Heard the news about Major Clayton and Miss Fairv ? " "No!' "Why, they're engaged to be married, to be sure ! " A HOUSE IN THE COUNTRY. % in t\t Country.

Part I

1bo\v 3 nook Jt. DWELLER in London all the year round, it has for years been my secret ambition to take a house in the country for the summer, at which period of the year it is my custom to take my annual well-earned holiday. Until the present year, however, this darling wish of my heart has never (to use a " turfy " expression) "come off," for the very good reason that my wife — who, in my case, is decidedly the better half — has always insisted on going to the sea. The very mention of the country to her is, apparently, gall and wormwood. " No, James," she always replies, decisively, when, as the dog-days draw nigh, we proceed to discuss 7* our holiday plans, and I mildly make my annual but fruitless suggestion of the country, — "No, James, I really cannot entertain the idea fora moment, I really ca.n-not / To be cooped up in some out-of-the-way country place, miies and miles away from any town or station, in all probability, not a doctor near, if any of us were taken ill ; papers two days old . no books to read; and not a soul to speak to, except the clergyman of the parish and his belong ings,—for, of course, only going as we should to a place of that sort for such a short time, no one round about would think it worth while to call on us, — oh, it would be too terrible an ordeal !

" At this point she would set her teeth and shud der. I knew that shudder well, and always took it as a signal for me to " Shut up." Married men, please sympathise. " I feel perfectly certain," she would continue, " my health would give way were I even to attempt it. "The dear children too, they would not like it half so well : no nice sands for them to play about on, no sea-bathing — nothing but a lot of nasty furze-bushes, and woods and places for them to scratch their eyes out and tear their clothes all to bits." And then, having said all she could say in opposition to my scheme, she would add insult to injury by exclaiming : " But don't let me stop you, James dear ! I can take the children, and nurse and Parker" (my wife's maid), "to Ramsgate, as usual. I'm sure those lodgings we were in last year were so comfortable, — it really was just like being at our own home.

And dear old Miss Mopson, with that charming white hair of hers, just like an old picture, was so delightful!" How artful women are ! Why, if I had dared to have proposed a jaunt on my own account, there would have been such a shindy as never was. However, my wish was to be fulfilled at last ; and it came about in the following manner. On a certain hot morning towards the end of June, I turned out of my office about noon to walk to my solicitor's office hard by to see him on some business or other. Now, be it known, the said solicitor, John Sooby by name, besides being all that one of his profes sion should be in the matter of shrewdness and long-headedness, is, away from his law-papers and parchments, as cheery a soul as ever you came across, and hospitable to a degree whenever opportunity offers.

A notorious gourmet, he not only does himself well, but his friends into the bargain ; and an invitation to dine, or lunch, or sup, as the case may be, is not a thing to be sneezed at by any manner of means. The little luncheons in his private room in the City are proverbial : therefore, our business over, I did not want much pressing, you may be sure, when John, announcing with a smile of satisfaction that it was one o'clock, jumped up from his chair, and throwing open the door of his inner room, invited me to enter and partake of what he was pleased to call a snack — the snack in question being an elaborate meal provided by one of the most celebrated of the City restaurateurs, whose establishment lay contiguous to John's office. When a hungry man has partaken liberally of mayonnaise of lobster and galantine aux trusses, winding up with half-a-dozen or so of those most insinuating of tarts commonly called " Maids of Honour" (sent specially from Richmond), washing the whole down with a magnum of Perrier Jouet '80, it would be but natural that he should feel on the best of terms, not only with himself, but with the world in general.

That is precisely how I felt, after John Sooby's luncheon, as I leant back in the easiest of easy chairs, puffing contentedly at one of my host's fragrant cigars. There was nothing I wouldn't have done for anybody at that moment, short of backing a bill, I verily believe. " You don't (puff) know anyone (puff), I suppose, who wants a place in the country for a couple of months or so this summer, do you ? " inquired John, in the confidential, lazy sort of manner a man assumes when engaged in the consumption of tobacco. " Because, if you do" (puff), he went on, " I 've heard of one this morning, the very thing for you or anyone wishing to spend a holiday in the heart of the country. My client, Captain Clatterton, late of the Hussars, writes me word that, wishing to go abroad for three months, he wants to let his house in Chalkshire for that period.

The shortest way, though, will be to read you his letter, and you can then judge for yourself." So saying, John, producing itfrom his pocket, adjusted his pince-nez and proceeded to read as follows : '"The Old Manor House, " ' Chorlbury, "'Chalkshire, " ' June " 'Dear Sooby,— The wife and I are thinking of going abroad for two or three months, and I want to find a tenant for my house during my absence. Here are particulars :— charming old house — lots of old oak and that sort of thing about it ; splenda ceous garden, with the biggest cedar in England in the middle of it, and a trout-stream (which the tenant is welcome to fish in) running through the bottom of it. Close to church and post-office. Use of pony and trap ; kitchen-garden produce, eggs, etc., thrown in. " ' I don't want any rent, all I ask being for the tenant to pay the servants and take care of the place as if I was here myself.

" ' If you should come across anyone amongst your friends wanting anything of the sort, put him on to me, there 's a good chap, and you will confer an obligation on "'Yours truly, "'Charles Clatterton. " 'P.S. — I forgot to mention that Chorlbury, the nearest town, is ten miles off.' " Sounds nice, don't it ? " said John, folding up the Captain's letter and returning it to its envelope. "The only drawback that I can see," he continued, " is the distance from the nearest town. Some people would make that an objection — I should myself, for instance. Others, on the con trary, think the farther they are away from the madding crowd, the better . . . What ? . . . Anyhow, there it is. You might mention it amongst your friends ; and if you should come across anyone inclined to take it — why, send him on to me."

The effect of that letter on me — taken, as it was, on the top of John Sooby's very excellent luncheon, — was magical in the extreme. I could see " The Old Manor House," with its trout-stream, its big cedar, its kitchen-gardens full of strawberries, and its fresh eggs, to say nothing of the little church round the corner, and the convenient post-office, in my mind's eye, as plain as a pikestaff! My mind was made up on the spot. "John!" exclaimed I, starting up and seizing my astonished host by the hand, " you need not go further than this room to look for a tenant for the Old Manor House, Chorlbury, Chalkshire. I '11 take it myself, my boy ; and you can write and tell Captain What 's-his-name so as soon as you like! " "Bravo! so you shall!" replied my jovial solicitor, reciprocating the shake of the hand.

"But" (and his countenance fell) "what will the wife say, James Dabchick " (my name, I omitted to say, is Dabchick), " my boy, eh ? " "Say? I don't care what she says!" I replied recklessly. " This is a chance of enjoying myself that I may never meet with again, and I intend to take advantage of it. If my wife don't care to come — why, she must stop away, that 's all. I intend to go; so, whatever you do, my dear fellow, write to the captain this very night, won't you ? " John promised so to do ; we had a glass apiece of some curious brown sherry he produced, to celebrate the event, as he said; and soon after, I departed to my own office in the most jubilant state of mind it is possible to conceive. The first thing I did when I reached home that evening was to break tbe news to my wife. She took it with most exasperating coolness ; and if she was angry (which I have reason to believe she was), she concealed it remarkably well.

"I have often told you, James," said she, "when you have proposed this sort of thing before, 'Go into the country, by all means, if it pleases you. Take a shooting-box, fishing-box, any sort of box you like ; but don't ask me to go, because nothing would induce me to do so.' No, dear James" (here she took a skein of worsted in her mouth, and in consequence spoke with difficulty — of course, on purpose to aggravate me) ; " go to your Old Manor House, by all means ; and when there, I sincerely hope you will enjoy yourself. As for myself and the children " (here she sighed a sigh redolent of Christian resignation), " we must be content as usual, I suppose, with Miss Mopson's stuffy lodgings at Ramsgate." (The last time she spoke of that worthy person, it was in terms of the highest praise.) She paused, doubtless expecting to see some signs of wavering in my face; but finding none, she rose, sniffed violently (a bad sign), and hastily cramming her work anyhow into its basket, left the room abruptly, probably to indulge in what the ladies are fond of describing as a " good cry;" which idea of mine received confirmation by her appearing at dinner, an hour afterwards, rather red about the eyelids ; her salts-bottle, too, was in constant requisition during the meal.

Alas ! all these signals of distress on the part of the injured martyr had no more effect on my obdurate bosom than water on a duck's back. Ha ! ha ! the summit of my ambition was at last reached ! I had taken a house in the country ! it

Part II

3 ©et Œbere. Extract from Mr. Dabchick' 's Diary of July 1st. APTAIN CLATTERTON writes to say that he has ' cleared out ' (I use his own expression), and that I can, therefore, enter on possession of 'The Old Manor House' as soon as I please. ' Hurrah ! three cheers, and one cheer more ! for the gallant Captain of the Old Man-or.' (Not a bad parody, eh, Mr. Gilbert ?) I '11 be off on Monday next. " On Monday morning, accordingly, having taken leave of my wife and children, the former of whom received my farewell caress with frigid indifference, I took my departure, in the best possible spirits and a four-wheeled cab, to the station, en route for Chorlbury and the Old Manor House. " Railway people are evidently great observers of character; for the guard, evidently on the strength of my countrified get-up— blue birdseye tie, shepherd's-plaid suit, and clump-soled shoes and gaiters, — as he arranged my things for me in a comfortable smoking-compartment, addressed me as ' Squire,' expressing a hope that the weather would keep fine for the farmers.

" This was gratifying to my feelings, and that guard received half-a-crown for his civility on the spot. He left me, and was immediately succeeded by the paper-boy, who appeared armed, not only with all the sporting papers of the day, but a basketful of sporting novels and magazines as well. (Guard had evidently told him I was a sportsman.) Thinking it incumbent upon me to keep up appearances, and in order not to make any mistake, for I did not know one paper from the other, I went in for the lot — the ' whole bag of tricks,' in fact — and a sporting novel as well. The boy was evidently impressed. " ' Thankee, sir,' said he, pocketing the three penny-bit I had presented him with. ' Would yer like Form at a Glance, sir ? Git it for yer direckly, if yer would. Very 'andy for a-spottin' the winners, sir.' " I replied I would have it, not in the least knowing what it was he meant.