It was the beginning of the hunting season, and with the hunting season
Louis Stanistreet reappeared on the scene. He stayed at Thorneytoft as
usual. Tyson had just bought a new hunter, a remarkable animal. It fell
away suddenly in the hind-quarters; it had a neck like a giraffe and legs
like a spider; but it could jump, if not very like a horse, very like a
kangaroo. This creature struck wonder and terror into the soul of the
hunt. At the first meet of the season Stanistreet, the Master, and Sir
Peter drew up by one accord to watch the antics of Tyson and his
kangaroo.
"By Jove! where does your friend pick up his hunters?" asked the Master.
"If you ask me," said Stanistreet, "I should say he buys them by the
yard."
Sir Peter smiled. The Master stroked his mustache and meditated. There
was a malignity about Stanistreet's humor conceivable enough--if there
was any truth in history. It struck Stanistreet that his feeble jest
met with an amount of attention out of all proportion to its merits. Sir
Peter was the first to recover himself.
"Your friend may buy his horses by the yard, but he doesn't ride like a
tailor. He rides like a man. Look at him--look at him!"
This was generous of Sir Peter, considering what Tyson had said about
his riding. But for all his love of gossip Sir Peter was a gentleman,
and that goose weighed heavily on his conscience. The reproof he had just
administered to Stanistreet relieved him wonderfully.
Stanistreet was at a loss to understand the old fellow's caustic tone.
Over billiards that night Tyson enlightened him.
Louis had been in a good temper all day; and his high spirits had
infected Mrs. Nevill Tyson, a fact which, you may be sure, was not set
down to her credit by those who noticed it.
"I heard your riding praised this morning, Ty," said he, beaming with
beneficence. They were alone.
"Ha!" said Tyson, "did you?"
"Rather. Binfield was asking where you picked your hunters up--got his
eye on the kangaroo, I fancy. I ventured to suggest, in my agreeable way,
that you bought them by the yard."
Tyson looked furious. Louis went on, unconscious of his doom. "Old Morley
went for me like a lunatic--said you didn't ride like a tailor, you rode
like a man. Queer old buffer, Morley--couldn't think what was the
matter with him."
Tyson laid down his cue and held Stanistreet with a leveling gaze.
"Look here, Stanistreet," said he, "I've stood a good deal, but if you
think I'm going to stand that, you're a greater fool than I took you for.
What the hell do you mean by telling everybody about my private affairs?"
"My dear Tyson, a man who rides to hounds regularly on a kangaroo has no
private affairs, he is, ipso facto, a public character." He threw back
his head and shouted his laughter. "You've built yourself an everlasting
name."