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CHAPTER 6

Priority Queues (Heaps)

6.1 Yes. When an element is inserted, we compare it to the current minimum and change the minimum if the new

element is smaller. deleteMin operations are expensive in this scheme.

6.2

6.3 The result of three deleteMins, starting with both of the heaps in Exercise 6.2, is as follows:

6.4 (a) 4N

(b) O(N2)

(c) O(N4.1)

(d) O(2N)

6.5
/**
* Insert item x, allowing duplicates.
*/
 void insert( const Comparable & x )
{
if( currentSize == array.size( ) - 1 )
array.resize( array.size( ) * 2 );
// Percolate up
int hole = ++currentSize;
for( ; hole > 1 && x < array[ hole / 2 ]; hole /= 2 )
array[ hole ] = array[ hole / 2 ];
array[0] = array[ hole ] = x;
}

6.6 225. To see this, start with i = 1 and position at the root. Follow the path toward the last node, doubling i

when taking a left child, and doubling i and adding one when taking a right child.

6.7 (a) We show that H(N), which is the sum of the heights of nodes in a complete binary tree of N nodes, is

N − b(N), where b(N) is the number of ones in the binary representation of N. Observe that for N = 0 and

N = 1, the claim is true. Assume that it is true for values of k up to and including N − 1. Suppose the left and

right subtrees have L and R nodes, respectively. Since the root has height  log N  , we have

H (N ) = log N  + H (L) + H (R )
= log N  + L − b(L) + R − b(R)
= N − 1 + (  Log N  − b(L) − b(R) )

The second line follows from the inductive hypothesis, and the third follows because L + R = N − 1. Now the

last node in the tree is in either the left subtree or the right subtree. If it is in the left subtree, then the right

subtree is a perfect tree, and b(R) = log N  − 1 . Further, the binary representation of N and L are identical,

with the exception that the leading 10 in N becomes 1 in L. (For instance, if N = 37 = 100101, L = 10101.) It

is clear that the second digit of N must be zero if the last node is in the left subtree. Thus in this case,

b(L) = b(N), and

H(N) = N − b(N)

If the last node is in the right subtree, then b(L) =  log N  . The binary representation of R is identical to

N, except that the leading 1 is not present. (For instance, if N = 27 = 101011, L = 01011.) Thus

b(R) = b(N) − 1, and again

H(N) = N − b(N)
 (b) Run a single-elimination tournament among eight elements. This requires seven comparisons and

generates ordering information indicated by the binomial tree shown here.

The eighth comparison is between b and c. If c is less than b, then b is made a child of c. Otherwise, both

c and d are made children of b.

(c) A recursive strategy is used. Assume that N = 2k. A binomial tree is built for the N elements as in part (b).

The largest subtree of the root is then recursively converted into a binary heap of 2 k − 1 elements. The last

element in the heap (which is the only one on an extra level) is then inserted into the binomial queue

consisting of the remaining binomial trees, thus forming another binomial tree of 2 k − 1 elements. At that

point, the root has a subtree that is a heap of 2 k − 1 − 1 elements and another subtree that is a binomial tree of

2k−1 elements. Recursively convert that subtree into a heap; now the whole structure is a binary heap. The

running time for N = 2k satisfies T(N) = 2T(N/2) + log N. The base case is T(8) = 8.

6.8 a) Since each element in a min heap has children whose elements are greater than the value in the
element itself, the maximum element has no children and is a leaf.

c) Since the maximum element can be any leaf (the position of a node is determined entirely by the
value of its parent and children), all leaves must be examined to find the maximum value in a min
heap.

6.9 Let D1, D2, . . . ,Dk be random variables representing the depth of the smallest, second smallest, and kth

smallest elements, respectively. We are interested in calculating E(Dk). In what follows, we assume that the

heap size N is one less than a power of two (that is, the bottom level is completely filled) but sufficiently

large so that terms bounded by O(1/N) are negligible. Without loss of generality, we may assume that the kth

smallest element is in the left subheap of the root. Let pj, k be the probability that this element is the jth

smallest element in the subheap.

Lemma.
 k −1
For k > 1, E (Dk ) =  p j ,k (E (D j ) + 1) .
j =1

Proof.

An element that is at depth d in the left subheap is at depth d + 1 in the entire subheap. Since

E(Dj + 1) = E(Dj) + 1, the theorem follows.

Since by assumption, the bottom level of the heap is full, each of second, third, . . . , k − 1th smallest

elements are in the left subheap with probability of 0.5. (Technically, the probability should be half − 1/(N −

1) of being in the right subheap and half + 1/(N − 1) of being in the left, since we have already placed the kth

smallest in the right. Recall that we have assumed that terms of size O(1/N) can be ignored.) Thus

1  k − 2
p j ,k = pk − j ,k = k −2  
2  j −1 

Theorem.

E(Dk)  log k.

Proof.

The proof is by induction. The theorem clearly holds for k = 1 and k = 2. We then show that it holds for

arbitrary k > 2 on the assumption that it holds for all smaller k. Now, by the inductive hypothesis, for any

1  j  k − 1,

E (D j ) + E (Dk − j )  log j + log k − j

Since f(x) = log x is convex for x > 0,

log j + log k − j  2 log ( k 2 )

Thus

E (D j ) + E (Dk − j )  log( k 2 ) + log ( k 2 )

Furthermore, since pj, k = pk − j, k,

p j ,k E (D j ) + pk − j ,k E (Dk − j )  p j ,k log ( k 2 ) + pk − j ,k log ( k 2 )

From the lemma,

 k −1
E (Dk ) =  p j , k (E (D j ) + 1)
j =1
k −1
=1+  p j, k E(D j )
j =1

Thus

k −1
E ( Dk )  1 +  p j , k log ( k 2)
j =1
k −1
 1 + log ( k 2)  p j , k
j =1

 1 + log ( k 2)
 log k

completing the proof.

It can also be shown that asymptotically, E(Dk)  log(k − 1) − 0.273548.

6.10 (a) Perform a preorder traversal of the heap.

(b) Works for leftist and skew heaps. The running time is O(Kd) for d-heaps.

6.12 Simulations show that the linear time algorithm is the faster, not only on worst-case inputs, but also on

random data.

6.13 (a) If the heap is organized as a (min) heap, then starting at the hole at the root, find a path down to a leaf by

taking the minimum child. The requires roughly log N comparisons. To find the correct place where to move

the hole, perform a binary search on the log N elements. This takes O(log log N) comparisons.

(b) Find a path of minimum children, stopping after log N − log log N levels. At this point, it is easy to

determine if the hole should be placed above or below the stopping point. If it goes below, then continue

finding the path, but perform the binary search on only the last log log N elements on the path, for a total of

log N + log log log N comparisons. Otherwise, perform a binary search on the first log N − log log N

elements. The binary search takes at most log log N comparisons, and the path finding took only log N − log

log N, so the total in this case is log N. So the worst case is the first case.

(c) The bound can be improved to log N + log*N + O(1), where log*N is the inverse Ackerman function (see

Chapter 8). This bound can be found in reference [17].

6.14 The parent is at position (i + d − 2) d  . The children are in positions (i − 1)d + 2, . . . , id + 1.

6.15 (a) O((M + d N) logd N).

 (b) O((M + N) log N).

(c) O(M + N2).

(d) d = max(2, M/N). (See the related discussion at the end of Section 11.4.)

6.16 Starting from the second most signficant digit in i, and going toward the least significant digit, branch left for

0s, and right for 1s.

6.17 (a) Place negative infinity as a root with the two heaps as subtrees. Then do a deleteMin.

(b) Place negative infinity as a root with the larger heap as the left subheap, and the smaller heap as the right

subheap. Then do a deleteMin.

(c) SKETCH: Split the larger subheap into smaller heaps as follows: on the left-most path, remove two

subheaps of height r − 1, then one of height r, r + 1, and so one, until l − 2. Then merge the trees, going

smaller to higher, using the results of parts (a) and (b), with the extra nodes on the left path substituting for

the insertion of infinity, and subsequent deleteMin.

6.18 a. The minimum element will be the root. The maximum element will be one of the two children of the root.

b. Place the new element in the last open position (as in a regular heap). Now compare it to its parent. Now if
the new element was inserted into a max(min) row and was less (greater) than its parent. Then swap it with
its parent and now it need only be compared to other min elements and bubbled up min elements. If it is
greater (less) than its parent it need only be compared to other max elements bubbled up using the max
elements.

c) For a min deletion, remove the root . Let the last element in the heap be x . If the root has no children, then
x becomes the root. If find m the minimum child or grandchild of the root. If k Y m, then x becomes the
root. Other wise if m is the child of the root the m becomes the root and x is inserted in place of m. Finally if
m is the grandchild of the root, then m is moved to the root and if p is the parent of m, then if x > is p, then p
and x are interchanged.

d) yes. (see Atkinson et al., Min-Max Heaps and Generalized Priority Queues, Programming Techniques
and Data Structures, Vol 29, No. 10, pp. 996 - 1000, 1986.)
6.20

6.21 This theorem is true, and the proof is very much along the same lines as Exercise 4.20.

6.22 If elements are inserted in decreasing order, a leftist heap consisting of a chain of left children is formed. This

is the best because the right path length is minimized.

6.23 (a) If a decreaseKey is performed on a node that is very deep (very left), the time to percolate up would be

prohibitive. Thus the obvious solution doesn’t work. However, we can still do the operation efficiently by a

combination of remove and insert. To remove an arbitrary node x in the heap, replace x by the merge of its

left and right subheaps. This might create an imbalance for nodes on the path from x’s parent to the root that

would need to be fixed by a child swap. However, it is easy to show that at most logN nodes can be affected,

preserving the time bound.

This is discussed in Chapter 11.

6.24 Lazy deletion in leftist heaps is discussed in the paper by Cheriton and Tarjan [10]. The general idea is that if

the root is marked deleted, then a preorder traversal of the heap is formed, and the frontier of marked nodes is

removed, leaving a collection of heaps. These can be merged two at a time by placing all the heaps on a

queue, removing two, merging them, and placing the result at the end of the queue, terminating when only

one heap remains.

6.25 (a) The standard way to do this is to divide the work into passes. A new pass begins when the first element

reappears in a heap that is dequeued. The first pass takes roughly 2*1*(N/2) time units because there are N/2

merges of trees with one node each on the right path. The next pass takes 2*2*(N/4) time units because of the

roughly N/4 merges of trees with no more than two nodes on the right path. The third pass takes 2*3*(N/8)

time units, and so on. The sum converges to 4N.

(b) It generates heaps that are more leftist.

6.26

6.27

6.28 This claim is also true, and the proof is similar in spirit to Exercise 4.20 or 6.21.

6.29 Yes. All the single operation estimates in Exercise 6.25 become amortized instead of worst-case, but by the

definition of amortized analysis, the sum of these estimates is a worst-case bound for the sequence.

6.30 Clearly the claim is true for k = 1. Suppose it is true for all values i = 1, 2, . . . , k. A Bk + 1 tree is formed by

attaching a Bk tree to the root of a Bk tree. Thus by induction, it contains a B0 through Bk − 1 tree, as well as the

newly attached Bk tree, proving the claim.

6.31 Proof is by induction. Clearly the claim is true for k = 1. Assume true for all values i = 1, 2, . . . ,k. A Bk + 1

k 
tree is formed by attaching a Bk tree to the original Bk tree. The original thus had   nodes at depth d. The
d 

 k 
attached tree had   nodes at depth d−1, which are now at depth d. Adding these two terms and using a
 d − 1

well-known formula establishes the theorem.

6.32

6.33 This is established in Chapter 11.

6.34

template<typename Comparable>
struct BiQueNode
{
Comparable item;
vector<BiQueNode *> pointers;
BiQueNode<Comparable> (Comparable e) : item(e) {}
};
template <typename Comparable>
class BinomalQue
{
private:
vector<BiQueNode<Comparable>> biQue;
};

template <typename Comparable>

BiQueNode<Comparable> * combine(BiQueNode<Comparable> * p, BiQueNode<Comparable> * q)
{
if (p->item < q->item)
{
p->pointers.push_back(q);
return p;
}
else
{
q->pointers.push_back(p);
return q;
}
}

template <typename Comparable>

BiQueNode<Comparable> * insert(Comparable v)
{
 BiQueNode<Comparable> * t = new BiQueNode<Comparable> v;
BiQueNode<Comparable> * c = t;
for (int i = 0; i <= biQue.size(); i++)
{
if (c == nullptr) break;
if (i == biQue.size() -1)
biQue.push_back(nullptr);
if (biQue[i] == nullptr)
{ biQue[i] = c; break;}
c = combine(c, bq[i]);
bique[i] = null;
}
return t;
}

6.37

/*
Bin packing
*/
#include <vector>
#include <queue>
using namespace std;
const double Cap = 1.0;
class Bins
{
private:
vector<double> bins;
priority_queue<double> heapBins;
public:
Bins(int size = 0)
{bins.resize(size);
for (int i = 0; i < size; i++)
bins[i] = 0;
}
void clear() {bins.clear();}
int size(){ return bins.size();}
void insertFirstFit(double item) // a.
{
for (int i = 0; i < bins.size(); i++)
if (bins[i] + item < Cap)
{
bins[i] += item;
return;
}
bins.push_back(item);
}
int insertWorstFit(double item) // b
{
static int size = 0;
double maxRoom;
if (heapBins.empty())
heapBins.push(Cap - item);
else
{
maxRoom = heapBins.top();
if (maxRoom > item) // there is room
{
 heapBins.pop();
heapBins.push(maxRoom - item);
}
else
{heapBins.push(Cap - item);
size++;
}
}
return size;
}
void insertBestFit(double item) // c
{
double gap =Cap;
int gapIndex = -1;
if (bins.size() == 0)
bins.push_back(item);
else
{
for (int i = 0; i < bins.size(); i++)
if (bins[i]+item < Cap && bins[i]+item < gap)
{
gap = Cap - bins[i] - item;
gapIndex = i;
}
if (gapIndex < 0)
bins.push_back(item);
else
bins[gapIndex] += item;
}
}
};

d. yes

6.38 Don’t keep the key values in the heap, but keep only the difference between the value of the key in a node

and the value of the parent’s key.

6.39 O(N + k log N) is a better bound than O(N log k). The first bound is O(N) if k = O(N/log N). The second

bound is more than this as soon as k grows faster than a constant. For the other values (N/log N) = k = (N),

the first bound is better. When k = (N), the bounds are identical.
Other documents randomly have
different content
closed the door, and hunted himself along to his own room at the
end of the passage—“E’leu in there! E’leu in!” oried he as he got to
the door.
Hinton, once the second town in Hit-im and Hold-im shire, stands
at the confluence of the Long Brawlinerford and Riplinton brooks,
whose united efforts here succeed in making a pretty respectable
stream. It is an old-fashioned country place, whose component parts
may be described as consisting of an extensive market-place, with a
massive church of the florid Gothic, or gingerbread order of
architecture at one end, a quaint stone-roofed, stone-pillared market
cross at the other, the Fox and Hounds hotel and posting-house on
the north side, with alternating shops and public houses on the
south.
Its population, according to a certain “sore subject” topographical
dictionary, was 23,500, whilst its principal trade might have been
described as “fleecing the foxhunters.” That was in its golden days,
when Lord Martingal hunted the country, holding his court at the Fox
and Hounds hotel, where gentlemen stayed with their studs for
months and months together, instead of whisking about with their
horses by steam. Then every stable in the town was occupied at
very remunerative rents, and the inhabitants seemed to think they
could never build enough.
Like the natives of most isolated places, the Hintonites were very
self-sufficient, firmly believing that there were no such conjurors as
themselves; and, when the Grumpletin railway was projected, they
resolved that it would ruin their town, and so they opposed it to a
man, and succeeded in driving it several miles off, thus scattering
their trade among other places along the line. Year by year the
bonnet and mantle shops grew less gay, the ribbons less attractive,
until shop after shop lapsed into a sort of store, hardware on one
side, and millinery, perhaps, on the other. But the greatest fall of all
was that of the Fox and Hounds hotel and posting-house. This
spacious hostelry had apparently been built with a view of
accommodating everybody; and, at the time of our story, it loomed
in deserted grandeur in the great grass-grown market-place. In
structure it was more like a continental inn than an English one;
quadrangular, entered by a spacious archway, from whose lofty
ceiling hung the crooks, from whence used to dangle the glorious
legs and loins of four-year-old mutton, the home-fed hams, the
geese, the ducks, the game, with not unfrequently a haunch or two
of presentation venison. With the building, however, the similarity
ended, the cobble-stoned courtyard displaying only a few water-
casks and a basket-caged jay, in lieu of the statues, and vases, and
fountains, and flower-stands that grace the flagged courts of the
continent. But in former days it boasted that which in the eye of our
innkeeper passes show, namely, a goodly line of two-horse carriages
drawn across its ample width. In those days county families moved
like county families, in great, caravan-like carriages, with plenty of
servants, who, having drunk the “Park or Hall” allowance, uphold
their characters and the honour of their houses, by topping up the
measure of intemperance with their own money. Their masters and
mistresses, too, considered the claims of the innkeepers, and ate
and drank for the good of the house, instead of sneaking away to
pastry-cooks for their lunches at a third of the price of the inn ones.
Not that any landlord had ever made money at the Fox and Hounds
hotel. Oh, no! it would never do to admit that. Indeed, Mr. Binny
used to declare, if it wasn’t “the great regard he had for Lord
Martingal and the gents of his hunt, he’d just as soon be without
their custom;” just as all Binnys decry, whatever they have—military
messes, hunt messes, bar messes, any sort of messes. They never
make anything by them—not they.
Now, however, that the hunt was irrevocably gone, words were
inadequate to convey old Peter the waiter’s lamentations at its loss.
“Oh dear, sir!” he would say, as he showed a stranger the club-room,
once the eighth wonder of the world, “Oh dear, sir! I never thought
to see things come to this pass. This room, sir, used to be occupied
night after night, and every Wednesday we had more company than
it could possibly hold. Now we have nothing but a miserable three-
and-sixpence a head once a month, with Sir Moses in the chair, and
a shilling a bottle for corkage. Formerly we had six shillings a bottle
for port and five for sherry, which, as our decanters didn’t hold three
parts, was pretty good pay.” Then Peter would open the shutters and
show the proportions of the room, with the unrivalled pictures on
the walls: Lord Martingal on his horse, Lord Martingal off his horse;
Mr. Customer on his horse, Mr. Customer off his horse, Mr. Customer
getting drunk; Mr. Crasher on his horse, Mr. Crasher with a hound,
&c., all in the old woodeny style that prevailed before the gallant
Grant struck out a fresh light in his inimitable “Breakfast,” and “Meet
of the Stag-hounds.” But the reader will perhaps accompany us to
one of Sir Moses’s “Wednesday evenings;” for which purpose they
will have the goodness to suppose the Baronet and Mr. Flintoff
arrayed in the dress uniform of the hunt—viz., scarlet coats with
yellow collars and facings, and Mr. Pringle attired in the height of the
fashion, bundling into one of those extraordinary-shaped vehicles
that modern times have introduced. “Right!” cries the footman from
the steps of the door, as Bankhead and Monsieur mount the box of
the carriage, and away the well-muffled party drive to the scene of
action.
The great drawback to the Hit-im and Hold-im shire hunt club-
room at the Fox and Hounds hotel and posting-house at Hinton,
undoubtedly was, that there was no ante or reception room. The
guests on alighting from their vehicles, after ascending the broad
straight flight of stairs, found themselves suddenly precipitated into
the dazzling dining-room, with such dismantling accommodation only
as a low screen before the door at the low-end of the room afforded.
The effect therefore was much the or same as if an actor dressed for
his part on the stage before the audience; a fox-hunter in his wraps,
and a fox-hunter in his red, being very distinct and different beings.
It was quite destructive of anything like imposing flourish or effect.
Moreover the accumulation of steaming things on a wet night, which
it generally was on a club dinner, added but little to the fragrance of
the room. So much for generalities; we will now proceed to our
particular dinner.
 Original Size

Sir Moses being the great gun of the evening, of course timed
himself to arrive becomingly late—indeed the venerable post-boy
who drove him, knew to a moment when to arrive; and as the party
ascended the straight flight of stairs they met a general buzz of
conversation coming down, high above which rose the discordant
notes of the Laughing Hyæna. It was the first hunt-dinner of the
season, and being the one at which Sir Moses generally broached his
sporting requirements, parties thought it prudent to be present, as
well as to hear the prospects of the season as to protect their own
pockets. To this end some twenty or five-and-twenty variegated
guests were assembled, the majority dressed in the red coat and
yellow facings of the hunt, exhibiting every variety of cut, from the
tight short-waisted swallow-tails of Mr. Crasher’s (the contemporary
of George the Fourth) reign, down to the sack-like garment of the
present day. Many of them looked as if, having got into their coats,
they were never to get out of them again, but as pride feels no pain,
if asked about them, they would have declared they were quite
comfortable. The dark-coated gentry were principally farmers, and
tradespeople, or the representatives of great men in the
neighbourhood. Mr. Buckwheat, Mr. Doubledrill, Mr. James
Corduroys, Mr. Stephen Broadfurrow; Mr. Pica, of the “Hit-im and
Hold-im shire Herald;” Hicks, the Flying Hatter, and his shadow Tom
Snowdon the draper or Damper, Manford the corn-merchant, Smith
the saddler. Then there was Mr. Mossman, Lord Polkaton’s Scotch
factor, Mr. Squeezeley, Sir Morgan Wildair’s agent, Mr. Lute, on behalf
of Lord Harpsichord, Mr. Stiff representing Sir George Persiflage, &c.,
&c. These latter were watching the proceedings for their employers,
Sir Moses having declared that Mr. Mossman, on a former occasion
(see page 188, ante), had volunteered to subscribe fifty pounds to
the hounds, on behalf of Lord Polkaton, and Sir Moses had made his
lordship pay it too—“dom’d if he hadn’t.” With this sketch of the
company, let us now proceed to the entry.
Though the current of conversation had been anything but
flattering to our master before his arrival, yet the reception they now
gave him, as he emerged from behind the screen, might have made
a less self-sufficient man than Sir Moses think he was extremely
popular. Indeed, they rushed at him in a way that none but Briareus
himself could have satisfied. They all wanted to hug him at once. Sir
Moses having at length appeased their enthusiasm, and given his
beak a good blow, proceeded to turn part of their politeness upon
Billy, by introducing him to those around. Mr. Pringle, Mr. Jarperson—
Mr. Pringle, Mr. Paul Straddler—Mr. Pringle, Mr. John Bullrush, and so
on.
Meanwhile Cuddy Flintoff kept up a series of view halloas and
hunting noises, as guest after guest claimed the loan of his hand for
a shake. So they were all very hearty and joyful as members of a
fox-hunting club ought to be.
 Original Size

The rules of the Hit-im and Hold-im-shire hunt, like those of many
other hunts and institutions, were sometimes very stringent, and
sometimes very lax—very stringent when an objectionable candidate
presented himself—very lax when a good one was to be obtained.
On the present occasion Sir Moses Mainchance had little difficulty in
persuading the meeting to suspend the salutary rule (No. 5)
requiring each new candidate to be proposed and seconded at one
meeting, and his name placed above the mantelpiece in the club-
room, until he was ballotted for at another meeting, in favour of the
nephew of his old friend and brother Baronet, Sir Jonathan Pringle;
whom he described as a most promising young sportsman, and likely
to make a most valuable addition to their hunt. And the members all
seeing matters in that light, Cuddy Flintoff was despatched for the
ballot-box, so that there might be no interruption to the
advancement of dinner by summoning Peter. Meanwhile Sir Moses
resumed the introductory process, Mr. Heslop Mr. Pringle, Mr. Pringle
Mr. Smoothley, Mr. Drew Mr. Pringle, helping Billy to the names of
such faces as he could not identity for want of their hunting caps.
Cleverer fellows than Billy are puzzled to do that sometimes.
Presently Mr. Flintoff returned with the rat-trap-like ballot-box
under his arm, and a willow-pattern soup-plate with some beans in
the bottom of it, in his hand.
“Make way!” cried he, “make way!” advancing up the room with all
the dignity of a mace-bearer. “Where will you have it, Sir Moses?”
asked he, “where will you have it, Sir Moses?”
“Here!” replied the Baronet, seizing a card-table from below the
portrait of Mr. Customer getting drunk, and setting it out a little on
the left of the fire. The ballot-box was then duly deposited on the
centre of the green baize with a composite candle on each side of it.
Sir Moses, then thinking to make up in dignity what he had
sacrificed to expediency, now called upon the meeting to appoint a
Scrutineer on behalf of the club, and parties caring little who they
named so long as they were not kept waiting for dinner, holloaed out
“Mr. Flintoff!” whereupon Sir Moses put it to them if they were all
content to have Mr. Flintoff appointed to the important and
responsible office of Scrutineer, and receiving a shower of “yes-es!”
in reply, he declared Mr. Flintoff was duly elected, and requested him
to enter upon the duties of his office.
Cuddy, then turning up his red coat wrists, so that there might be
no suspicion of concealed beans, proceeded to open and turn the
drawers of the ballot-box upside down, in order to show that they
were equally clear, and then restoring them below their “Yes” and
“No” holes, he took his station behind the table with the soup-plate
in his hand ready to drop a bean into each member’s hand, as he
advanced to receive it. Mr. Heslop presently led the way at a dead-
march-in-Saul sort of pace, and other members falling in behind like
railway passengers at a pay place, there was a continuous dropping
of beans for some minutes, a solemn silence being preserved as if
the parties expected to hear on which side they fell.
At length the constituency was exhausted, and Mr. Flintoff having
assumed the sand-glass, and duly proclaimed that he should close
the ballot, if no member appeared before the first glass was out,
speedily declared it was run, when, laying it aside, he emptied the
soup-plate of the remaining beans, and after turning it upside down
to show the perfect fairness of the transaction, handed it to Sir
Moses to hold for the result. Drawing out the “Yes” drawer first, he
proceeded with great gravity to count the beans out into the soup-
plate—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and so on, up to
eighteen, when the inverted drawer proclaimed they were done.
“Eighteen Ayes,” announced Sir Moses to the meeting, amid a
murmur of applause.
Mr. Flintoff then produced the dread “No,” or black-ball drawer,
whereof one to ten white excluded, and turning it upside down,
announced, in a tone of triumph, “none!”
“Hooray!” cried Sir Moses, seizing our hero by both hands, and
hugging him heartily—“Hooray! give you joy, my boy! you’re a
member of the first club in the world! The Caledonian’s nothing to it;
—dom’d if it is.” So saying, he again swung him severely by the
arms, and then handed him over to the meeting.
And thus Mr. Pringle was elected a member of the Hit-im and
Hold-im shire hunt, without an opportunity of asking his Mamma, for
the best of all reasons, that Sir Moses had not even asked him
himself.
 CHAPTER XL.
THE HUNT DINNER,

Original Size
CARCELY were the congratulations of the company to our hero, on
his becoming a member of the renowned Hit-im and Hold-im shire
hunt, over, ere a great rush of dinner poured into the room, borne
by Peter and the usual miscellaneous attendants at an inn banquet;
servants in livery, servants out of livery, servants in a sort of half-
livery, servants in place, servants out of place, post-boys converted
into footmen, “boots” put into shoes. Then the carrot and turnip
garnished roasts and boils, and stews were crowded down the table,
in a profusion that would astonish any one who thinks it impossible
to dine under a guinea a head. Rounds, sirloins middles, sucking-
pigs, poultry, &c. (for they dispensed with the formalities of soup
and fish ), being duly distributed. Peter announced the fact
deferentially to Sir Moses, as he stood monopolizing the best place
before the fire, whereupon the Baronet, drawing his hands out of his
trowser’s pockets, let fall his yellow lined gloves and clapping his
hands, exclaimed. “DINNER GENTLEMAN!” in a stentorian voice,
adding, “PRINGLE you sit on my right! and CUDDY!” appealing to
our friend Flintoff’. “will you take the vice-chair?”
“With all my heart!” replied Cuddy, whereupon making an
imaginary hunting-horn of his hand, he put it to his mouth, and went
blowing and hooping down the room, to entice a certain portion of
the guests after him. All parties being at length suited with seats,
grace was said, and the assault commenced with the vigorous
determination of over-due appetites.
If a hand-in-the-pocket-hunt-dinner possesses few attractions in
the way of fare, it is nevertheless free from the restraints and
anxieties that pervade private entertainments, where the host cranes
at the facetious as he scowls at his butler, or madame mingles her
pleasantries with prayers for the safe arrival of the creams, and
those extremely capricious sensitive jellies. People eat as if they had
come to dine and not to talk, some, on this occasion, eating with
their knives, some with their forks, some with both occasionally. And
so, what with one aid and another, they made a very great clatter.
The first qualms of hunger being at length appeased, Sir Moses
proceeded to select subjects for politeness in the wine-taking way—
men whom he could not exactly have at his own house, but who
might be prevented from asking for cover-rent, or damages, by a
little judicious flattery, or again, men who were only supposed to be
lukewarmly disposed towards the great Hit-im and Hold-im shire
hunt.
Sir Moses would rather put his hand into a chimney-sweep’s
pocket than into his own, but so long as anything could be got by
the tongue he never begrudged it. So he “sherried” with Mossman
and the army of observation generally, also with Pica, who always
puffed his hunt, cutting at D’Orsay Davis’s efforts on behalf of the
Earl, and with Buckwheat (whose son he had recently dom’d à la
Rowley Abingdon), and with Corduroys, and Straddler, and Hicks,
and Doubledrill—with nearly all the dark coats, in short—Cuddy
Flintoff, too, kept the game a-going at his end of the table, as well to
promote conviviality as to get as much wine as he could; so
altogether there was a pretty brisk consumption, and some of the
tight-clad gentlemen began to look rather apoplectic. Cannon-ball-
like plum-puddings, hip-bath-like apple-pies, and foaming creams,
completed the measure of their uneasiness, and left little room for
any cheese. Nature being at length most abundantly satisfied
throughout the assembly, grace was again said, and the cloth
cleared for action. The regulation port and sherry, with light—very
light—Bordeaux, being duly placed upon the table, with piles of
biscuits at intervals, down the centre, Sir Moses tapped the well-
indented mahogany with his presidential hammer, and proceeded to
prepare the guests for the great toast of the evening, by calling
upon them to fill bumpers to the usual loyal and patriotic ones.
These being duly disposed of, he at length rose for the all-important
let off, amid the nudges and “now then’s,” of such of the party as
feared a fresh attempt on their pockets—Mossman and Co., in
particular, were all eyes, ears, and fears.
“Gentlemen!” cries Sir Moses, rising and diving his hands into his
trouser’s pockets—“Gentlemen!” repeated he, with an ominous
cough, that sounded very like cash.
“Hark to the Bar owl!—hark” cheered Cuddy Flintoff from the
other end of the room, thus cutting short a discussion about wool, a
bargain for beans, and an inquiry for snuff in his own immediate
neighbourhood, and causing a tapping of the table further up.
“Gentlemen!” repeated Sir Moses, for the third time, amid cries of
“hear, hear,” and “order, order,”—“I now have the pleasure of
introducing to your notice the toast of the evening—a toast
endeared by a thousand associations, and rendered classical by the
recollection of the great and good men who have given it in times
gone by from this very chair—(applause). I need hardly say,
gentlemen, that that toast is the renowned Hit-im and Hold-im shire
hunt—(renewed applause)—a hunt second to none in the kingdom;
a hunt whose name is famous throughout the land, and whose
members are the very flower and élite of society—(renewed
applause). Never, he was happy to say, since it was established,
were its prospects so bright and cheering as they were at the
present time—(great applause, the announcement being considered
indicative of a healthy exchequer)—its country was great, its covers
perfect, and thanks to their truly invaluable allies—the farmers—their
foxes most abundant—(renewed applause). Of those excellent men
it was impossible to speak in terms of too great admiration and
respect—(applause)—whether he looked at those he was blessed
with upon his own estate—(laughter)—or at the great body
generally, he was lost for words to express his opinion of their
patriotism, and the obligations he felt under to them. So far from
ever hinting at such a thing as damage, he really believed a farmer
would be hooted from the market-table who broached such a
subject—(applause, with murmurs of dissent)—or who even
admitted it was possible that any could be done—(laughter and
applause). As for a few cocks and hens, he was sure they felt a
pleasure in presenting them to the foxes. At all events, he could
safely say he had never paid for any—(renewed laughter). Looking,
therefore, at the hunt in all its aspects—its sport past, present, and
to come—he felt that he never addressed them under circumstances
of greater promise, or with feelings of livelier satisfaction. It only
remained for them to keep matters up to the present mark, to insure
great and permanent prosperity. He begged, therefore, to propose,
with all the honours, Success to the Hit-im and Hold-im shire
hunt!”—(drunk with three times three and one cheer more). Sir
Moses and Cuddy Flintoff mounting their chairs to mark time. Flintoff
finishing off with a round of view halloas and other hunting noises.
When the applause and Sir Moses had both subsided, parties who
had felt uneasy about their pockets, began to breathe more freely,
and as the bottles again circulated, Mr. Mossman and others, for
whom wine was too cold, slipped out to get their pipes, and
something warm in the bar; Mossman calling for whiskey, Buckwheat
for brandy, Broadfurrow for gin, and so on. Then as they sugared
and flavoured their tumblers, they chewed the cud of Sir Moses’s
eloquence, and at length commenced discussing it, as each man got
seated with his pipe in his mouth and his glass on his knee, in a little
glass-fronted bar.
“What a man he is to talk, that Sir Moses,” observed Buckwheat
after a long respiration.
“He’s a greet economist of the truth, I reckon,” replied Mr.
Mossman, withdrawing his pipe from his mouth, “for I’ve written to
him till I’m tired, about last year’s damage to Mrs. Anthill’s sown
grass.”
“He’s right, though, in saying he never paid for poultry,” observed
Mr. Broadfurrow, with a humorous shake of his big head, “but, my
word, his hook-nosed agent has as many letters as would paper a
room;” and so they sipped, and smoked, and talked the Baronet
over, each man feeling considerably relieved at there being no fresh
attempt on the pocket.
Meanwhile Sir Moses, with the aid of Cuddy Flintoff, trimmed the
table, and kept the bottles circulating briskly, presently calling on Mr.
Paul Straddler for a song, who gave them the old heroic one,
descriptive of a gallant run with the Hit-im and Hold-im shire
hounds, in the days of Mr. Customer, at which they all laughed and
applauded as heartily as if they had never heard it before. They then
drank Mr. Straddler’s health, and thanks to him for his excellent
song.
As it proceeded, Sir Moses intimated quietly to our friend Billy
Pringle that he should propose his health next, which would enable
Mr. Pringle to return the compliment by proposing Sir Moses, an
announcement that threw our hero into a very considerable state of
trepidation, but from which he saw no mode of escape. Sir Moses
then having allowed a due time to elapse after the applause that
followed the drinking of Mr. Straddler’s health, again arose, and
tapping the table with his hammer, called upon them to fill bumpers
to the health of his young friend on his right (applause). “He could
not express the pleasure it afforded him,” he said, “to see a nephew
of his old friend and brother Baronet, Sir Jonathan Pringle, become a
member of their excellent hunt, and he hoped Billy would long live
to enjoy the glorious diversion of fox-hunting,” which Sir Moses said
it was the bounden duty of every true-born Briton to support to the
utmost of his ability, for that it was peculiarly the sport of
gentlemen, and about the only one that defied the insidious arts of
the blackleg, adding that Lord Derby was quite right in saying that
racing had got into the hands of parties who kept horses not for
sport, but as mere instruments of gambling, and if his (Sir Moses’s)
young friend, Mr. Pringle, would allow him to counsel him, he would
say, Never have anything to do with the turf (applause). Stick to
hunting, and if it didn’t bring him in money, it would bring him in
health, which was better than money, with which declaration Sir
Moses most cordially proposed Mr. Pringle’s health (drunk with three
times three and one cheer more).
Now our friend had never made a speech in his life, but being, as
we said at the outset, blessed with a great determination of words
to the mouth, he rose at a hint from Sir Moses, and assured the
company “how grateful he was for the honour they had done him as
well in electing him a member of their delightful sociable hunt, as in
responding to the toast of his health in the flattering manner they
had, and he could assure them that nothing should be wanting on
his part to promote the interests of the establishment, and to prove
himself worthy of their continued good opinion,” at which intimation
Sir Moses winked knowingly at Mr. Smoothley, who hemmed a
recognition of his meaning.
Meanwhile Mr. Pringle stood twirling his trifling moustache,
wishing to sit down, but feeling there was something to keep him
up: still he couldn’t hit it off. Even a friendly round of applause failed
to help him out; at length, Sir Moses, fearing he might stop
altogether, whispered the words “My health,” just under his nose; at
which Billy perking up, exclaimed, “Oh, aye, to be sure!” and seizing
a decanter under him, he filled himself a bumper of port, calling
upon the company to follow his example. This favour being duly
accorded, our friend then proceeded, in a very limping, halting sort
of way, to eulogise a man with whom he was very little acquainted
amid the friendly word-supplying cheers and plaudits of the party. At
length he stopped again, still feeling that he was not due on his
seat, but quite unable to say why he should not resume it. The
company thinking he might have something to say to the purpose,
how he meant to hunt with them, or something of that sort, again
supplied the cheers of encouragement. It was of no use, however,
he couldn’t hit it off.

****
“All the honors!” at length whispered Sir Moses as before.
“O, ah, to be sure! all the honors!” replied Billy aloud, amidst the
mirth of the neighbours. “Gentlemen!” continued he, elevating his
voice to its former pitch, “This toast I feel assured—that is to say, I
feel quite certain. I mean,” stammered he, stamping with his foot, “I,
I, I.”
“Aye, two thou’s i’ Watlington goods!” exclaimed the half-drunken
Mr. Corduroys, an announcement that drew forth such a roar of
laughter as enabled Billy to tack the words, “all the honors,” to the
end, and so with elevated glass to continue the noise with cheers.
He then sate down perfectly satisfied with this his first performance,
feeling that he had the germs of oratory within him.
A suitable time having elapsed, Sir Moses rose and returned
thanks with great vigour, declaring that beyond all comparison that
was the proudest moment of his life, and that he wouldn’t exchange
the mastership of the Hit-im and Hold-im shire hounds for the
highest, the noblest office in the world—Dom’d if he would! with
which asseveration he drank all their very good healths, and
resumed his seat amidst loud and long continued applause, the
timidest then feeling safe against further demands on their purses.
Another song quickly followed, and then according to the usual
custom of society, that the more you abuse a man in private the
more you praise him in public, Sir Moses next proposed the health of
that excellent and popular nobleman the Earl of Ladythorne, whose
splendid pack showed such unrivalled sport in the adjoining county
of Featherbedford; Sir Moses, after a great deal of flattery,
concluding by declaring that he would “go to the world’s end to
serve Lord Ladythorne—Dom’d if he wouldn’t,” a sort of compliment
that the noble Earl never reciprocated; on the contrary, indeed,
when he condescended to admit the existence of such a man as Sir
Moses, it was generally in that well-known disparaging enquiry,
“Who is that Sir Aaron Mainchance? or who is that Sir Somebody
Mainchance, who hunts Hit-im and Hold-im shire?” He never could
hit off the Baronet’s Christian or rather Jewish name. Now, however,
it was all the noble Earl, “my noble friend and brother master,” the
“noble and gallant sportsman,” and so on. Sir Moses thus partly
revenging himself on his lordship with the freedom.
When a master of hounds has to borrow a “draw” from an
adjoining country, it is generally a pretty significant hint that his own
is exhausted, and when the chairman of a hunt dinner begins
toasting his natural enemy the adjoining master, it is pretty evident
that the interest of the evening is over. So it was on the present
occasion. Broad backs kept bending away at intervals, thinking
nobody saw them, leaving large gaps unclosed up, while the guests
that remained merely put a few drops in the bottoms of their glasses
or passed the bottles altogether.
Sir Aaron, we beg his pardon—Sir Moses, perceiving this, and
knowing the value of a good report, called on those who were left to
“fill a bumper to the health of their excellent and truly invaluable
friend Mr. Pica, contrasting his quiet habits with the swaggering
bluster of a certain Brummagem Featherbedfordshire D’Orsay.”
(Drunk with great applause, D’Orsay Davis having more than once
sneered at the equestrian prowess of the Hit-im aud Hold-im shire-
ites.)
Mr. Pica, who was a fisherman and a very bad one to boot, then
arose and began dribbling out the old stereotyped formula about air
we breathe, have it not we die, &c., which was a signal for a general
rise; not all Sir Moses and Cuddy Flintoff’s united efforts being able
to restrain the balance of guests from breaking away, and a
squabble occurring behind the screen about a hat, the chance was
soon irrevocably gone. Mr. Pica was, therefore, left alone in his glory.
If any one, however, can afford to be indifferent about being heard,
it is surely an editor who can report himself in his paper, and poor
Pica did himself ample justice in the “Hit-im and Hold-im shire
Herald” on the Saturday following.
 CHAPTER XLI.
THE HUNT TEA.—BUSHEY HEATH
AND BARE ACRES.

Original Size

HE 15th rule of the Hit-im and Hold-im shire hunt, provides that all
members who dine at the club, may have tea and muffins ad libitum
for 6 d. a head afterwards, and certainly nothing can be more
T
refreshing after a brawling riotous dinner than a little quiet
comfortable Bohea. Sir Moses always had his six-penn’orth, as
had a good many of his friends and followers. Indeed the rule
was a proposition of the Baronet’s, such a thing as tea being
unheard of in the reign of Mr. Customer, or any of Sir Moses’s great
predecessors. Those were the days of “lift him up and carry him to
bed.” Thank goodness they are gone! Men can hunt without thinking
it necessary to go out with a headache. Beating a jug in point of
capacity is no longer considered the accomplishment of a
gentleman.
Mr. Pica’s eloquence having rather prematurely dissolved the
meeting, Sir Moses and his friends now congregated round the fire
all very cheery and well pleased with themselves—each flattering the
other in hopes of getting a compliment in return. “Gone off
amazingly well!” exclaimed one, rubbing his hands in delight at its
being over. “Capital party,” observed another. “Excellent speech
yours, Sir Moses,” interposed a third. “Never heard a better,”
asserted a fourth. “Ought to ask to have it printed,” observed a fifth.
“O, never fear! Pica’ll do that,” rejoined a sixth, and so they went on
warding off the awkward thought, so apt to arise of “what a bore
these sort of parties are. Wonder if they do any good?”
The good they do was presently shown on this occasion by Mr.
Smoothley, the Jackall of the hunt, whose pecuniary obligations to
Sir Moses we have already hinted at, coming bowing and fawning
obsequiously up to our Billy, revolving his hands as though he were
washing them, and congratulating him upon becoming one of them.
Mr. Smoothley was what might be called the head pacificator of the
hunt, the gentleman who coaxed subscriptions, deprecated damage,
and tried to make young gentlemen believe they had had very good
runs, when in fact they had only had very middling ones.
The significant interchange of glances between Sir Moses and him
during Billy’s speech related to a certain cover called Waverley gorse,
which the young Woolpack, Mr. Treadcroft, who had ascertained his
inability to ride, had announced his intention of resigning. The
custom of the hunt was, first to get as many covers as they could for
nothing; secondly to quarter as few on the club funds as possible;
and thirdly to get young gentlemen to stand godfathers to covers, in
other words to get them to pay the rent in return for the compliment
of the cover passing by their names, as Heslop’s spiny, Linch’s gorse,
Benson’s banks, and so on.
This was generally an after-dinner performance, and required a
skilful practitioner to accomplish, more particularly as the trick was
rather notorious. Mr. Smoothley was now about to try his hand on
Mr. Pringle. The bowing and congratulations over, and the flexible
back straightened, he commenced by observing that, he supposed a
copy of the rules of the hunt addressed to Pangburn Park, would
find our friend.
“Yarse,” drawled Billy, wondering if there would be anything to
pay. “Dash it, he wished there mightn’t? Shouldn’t be surprised if
there was?”
 Original Size

Mr. Smoothley, however, gave him little time for reflection, for
taking hold of one of his own red-coat buttons, he observed, “that
as he supposed Mr. Pringle would be sporting the hunt uniform, he
might take the liberty of mentioning that Garnett the silversmith in
the market-place had by far the neatest and best pattern’d buttons.”
“Oh, Garnett, oh, yarse,” replied Billy, thinking he would get a set
for his pink, instead of the plain ones he was wearing.
“His shop is next the Lion and the Lamb public house,” continued
Mr. Smoothley, “between it and Mrs. Russelton the milliner’s, and by
the way that reminds me,” continued he, though we don’t exactly
see how it could, “and by the way that reminds me that there is an
excellent opportunity for distinguishing yourself by adopting the
cover young Mr. Treadcroft has just abandoned.”
“The w-h-a-at?” drawled Billy, dreading a “do;” his mother having
cautioned him always to be mindful after dinner.
“O, merely the gorse,” continued Mr. Smoothley, in the most
affable matter-of-course way imaginable, “merely the gorse—if you’ll
step this way, I’ll show you,” continued he, leading the way to where
a large dirty board was suspended against the wall below the
portrait of Lord Martingal on his horse.
“Now he’s running into him!” muttered Sir Moses to himself, his
keen eye supplying the words to the action.
“This, you see,” explained Mr. Smoothley, hitching the board off its
brass-headed nail, and holding it to the light—“this, you see, is a list
of all the covers in the country—Screechley, Summer-field,
Reddingfield, Bewley, Lanton Hill, Baxterley, and so forth. Then you
see here,” continned he, pointing to a ruled column opposite, “are
the names of the owners or patrons—yes” (reading), “owners or
patrons—Lord Oilcake, Lord Polkaton, Sir Harry Fuzball, Mr. Heslop,
Lord Harpsichord, Mr. Drew, Mr. Smith. Now young Mr. Treadcroft,
who has had as many falls as he likes, and perhaps more, has just
announced his intention of retiring and giving up this cover,” pointing
to Waverley, with Mr. Treadcroft, Jun.‘s name opposite to it, “and it
struck me that it would be a capital opportunity for you who have
just joined us, to take it before anybody knows, and then it will go
by the name of Pringle’s gorse, and you’ll get the credit of all the
fine runs that take place from it.”
“Y-a-r-s-e,” drawled Billy, thinking that that would be a sharp thing
to do, and that it would be fine to rank with the lords.
“Then,” continued Mr. Smoothley, taking the answer for an assent,
“I’ll just strike Treadey’s name ont, and put yours in;” so saying, he
darted at the sideboard, and seizing an old ink-clotted stump of a
pen, with just enough go in it to make the required alteration, and
substituted Mr. Pringle’s name for that of Mr. Treadcroft. And so,
what with his cover, his dinner, and his button, poor Billy was eased
of above twenty pounds.
Just as Sir Moses was blowing his beak, stirring the fire, and
chuckling at the success of the venture, a gingling of cups and
tinkling of spoons was heard in the distance, and presently a great
flight of tea-trays emerged from either side of the screen,
conspicuous among the bearers of which were the tall ticket-of-leave
butler and the hirsute Monsieur Jean Rougier. These worthies, with a
few other “gentlemen’s gentlemen,” had been regaled to a supper in
the “Blenheim,” to which Peter had contributed a liberal allowance of
hunt wine, the consumption of which was checked by the corks, one
set, it was said, serving Peter the season. That that which is
everybody’s business is nobody’s, is well exemplified in these sort of
transactions, for though a member of the hunt went through the
form of counting the cork-tops every evening, and seeing that they
corresponded with the number set down in Peter’s book, nobody
ever compared the book with the cellar, so that in fact Peter was
both check-keeper and auditor. Public bodies, however, are all
considered fair game, and the Hit-im and Hold-im shire hunt was no
exception to the rule. In addition to the wine, there had been a
sufficient allowance of spirits in the “Blenheim” to set the drunkards
to work on their own account, and Jack Rogers, who was quite the
life of the party, was very forward in condition when the tea-
summons was heard.
“Hush!” cried Peter, holding up his hand, and listening to an
ominous bell-peal, “I do believe that’s for tea! So it is,” sighed he, as
a second summons broke upon the ear. “Tea at this hour!”
ejaculated he, “who’d ha’ thought it twenty years ago! Why, this is
just the time they’d ha’ been calling for Magnums, and beginnin’ the
evening—Tea! They’d as soon ha’ thought of callin’ for winegar!”
added he, with a bitter sneer. So saying, Peter dashed a tear from
his aged eye, and rising from his chair, craved the assistance of his
guests to carry the degrading beverage up-stairs, to our degenerate
party. “A set of weshenvomen!” muttered he, as the great slop-
basin-like-cups stood ranged on trays along the kitchen-table ready
for conveyance. “Sarves us right for allowing such a chap to take our
country,” added he, adopting his load, and leading the tea-van.
When the soothing, smoking beverage entered, our friend, Cuddy
Flintoff, was “yoicking” himself about the club-room, stopping now at
this picture, now that, holloaing at one, view-holloaing at another,
thus airing his hunting noises generally, as each successive subject
recalled some lively association in his too sensitive hunting
imagination. Passing from the contemplation of that great work of
art, Mr. Customer getting drunk, he suddenly confronted the tea-
brigade entering, led by Peter, Monsieur, and the ticket-of-leave
butler.
“Holloa! old Bushey Heath!” exclaimed Cuddy, dapping his hands,
as Mousieur’s frizzed face loomed congruously behind a muffin-
towering tea-tray. “Holloa! old Bushey Heath!” repeated he, louder
than before, “What cheer there?”
“Vot cheer there, Brother Bareacres?” replied Jack in the same
familiar tone, to the great consternation of Cuddy, and the
amusement of the party.
“Dash the fellow! but he’s getting bumptious,” muttered Cuddy,
who had no notion of being taken up that way by a servant. “Dash
the fellow! but he’s getting bumptious,” repeated he, adding aloud to
Jack, “That’s not the way you talked when you tumbled off your
horse the other day!”
“Tombled off my ‘oss, sare!” replied Jack, indignantly—“tombled
off my ‘oss, sare—nevare, sare!—nevare!”
“What!” retorted Cuddy, “do you mean to say you didn’t tumble off
your horse on the Crooked Billet day?” for Cuddy had heard of that
exploit, but not of Jack’s subsequent performance.
“No, sare, I jomp off,” replied Jack, thinking Cuddy alluded to his
change of horses with the Woolpack.
“Jo-o-m-p off! j-o-omp off!” reiterated Cuddy, “we all jomp off,
when we can’t keep on. Why didn’t old Imperial John take you into
the Crooked Billet, and scrape you, and cherish you, and comfort
you, and treat you as he would his own son?” demanded Cuddy.
 “Imperial John, sare, nevare did nothin’ of the sort,” replied Jack,
confidently. “Imperial John and I retired to ‘ave leetle drop drink
together to our better ‘quaintance. I met John there, n’est-ce pas?
Monsieur Sare Moses, Baronet! Vasn’t it as I say?” asked Jack,
jingling his tea-tray before the Baronet.
“Oh yes,” replied Sir Moses,—“Oh yes, undoubtedly; I introduced
you there; but here! let me have some tea,” continued he, taking a
cup, wishing to stop the conversation, lest Lord Ladythorne might
hear he had introduced his right-hand man, Imperial John, to a
servant.
Cuddy, however, wasn’t to be stopped. He was sure Jack had
tumbled off, and was bent upon working him in return for his
Bareacres compliment.
“Well, but tell us,” said he, addressing Jack again, “did you come
over his head or his tail, when you jomp off?”
“Don’t, Cuddy! don’t!” now muttered Sir Moses, taking the entire
top tier off a pile of muffins, and filling his mouth as full as it would
hold; “don’t,” repeated he, adding, “it’s no use (munch) bullying a
poor (crunch) beggar because he’s a (munch) Frenchman” (crunch).
Sir Moses then took a great draught of tea.
Monsieur’s monkey, however, was now up, and he felt inclined to
tackle with Flintoff. “I tell you vot, sare Cuddy,” said he, looking him
full in the face, “you think yourself vare great man, vare great
ossmaan, vare great foxer, and so on, bot I vill ride you a match for
vot monies you please.”
“Hoo-ray! well done you! go it, Monsieur! Who’d ha’ thought it!
Now for some fun!” resounded through the room, bringing all parties
in closer proximity.
Flintoff was rather taken aback. He didn’t expect anything of that
sort, and though he fully believed Jack to be a tailor, he didn’t want
to test the fact himself; indeed he felt safer on foot than on
horseback, being fonder of the theory than of the reality of hunting.
“Hut you and your matches,” sneered he, thrusting his hands deep
in his trousers’ pockets, inclining to sheer of, adding, “go and get his
Imperial Highness to ride you one.”
“His Imperial Highness, sare, don’t deal in oss matches. He is not
a jockey, he is a gentlemans—great friend of de great lords vot rules
de oder noisy dogs,” replied Jack.
“Humph, grunted Sir Moses, not liking the language.
“In-deed!” exclaimed Cuddy with a frown, “In-deed! Hark to
Monsieur! Hark!”
“Oh, make him a match, Cuddy! make him a match!” now
interposed Paul Straddler, closing up to prevent Cuddy’s retreat.
Paul, as we said before, was a disengaged gentleman who kept a
house of call for Bores at Hinton,—a man who was always ready to
deal, or do anything, or go any where at any body else’s expense. A
great judge of a horse, a great judge of a groom, a great judge of a
gig, a gentleman a good deal in Cuddy Flintoff’s own line in short,
and of course not a great admirer of his. He now thought he saw his
way to a catch, for the Woolpack had told him how shamefully Jack
had bucketed his horse, and altogether he thought Monsieur might
be as good a man across country as Mr. Flintoff. At all events he
would like to see.
“Oh, make him a match, Cuddy! make him a match!” now
exclaimed he, adding in Flintoff’s ear, “never let it be said you were
afraid of a Frenchman.”
“Afraid!” sneered Cuddy, “nobody who knows me will think that, I
guess.”
“Well then, make him a match!” urged Tommy Heslop, who was
no great admirer of Cuddy’s either; “make him a match, and I’ll go
your halves.”
“And I’ll go Monsieur’s,” said Mr. Straddler, still backing the thing
up. Thus appealed to, poor Cuddv was obliged to submit, and before
he knew where he was, the dread pen, ink and paper were
produced, and things began to assume a tangible form. Mr. Paul
Straddler, having seated himself on a chair at the opportune card-
table, began sinking his pen and smoothing out his paper, trying to
coax his ideas into order.
 “Now, let us see,” said he, “now let us see. Monsieur, what’s his
name—old Bushey-heath as you call him, agrees to ride Mr. Flintoff a
match across country—now for distance, time, and stake! now for
distance, time, and stake!” added he, hitting off the scent.
“Well, but how can you make a match without any horses? how
can you make a match without any horses?” asked Sir Moses,
interposing his beak, adding “I’ll not lend any—dom’d if I will.” That
being the first time Sir Moses was ever known not to volunteer one.
“O, we’ll find horses,” replied Tommy Heslop, “we’ll find horses!”
thinking Sir Moses’s refusal was all in favor of the match. “Catch
weights, catch horses, catch every thing.”
“Now for distance, time, and stake,” reiterated Mr. Straddler. “Now
for distance, time, and stake, Monsieur!” continued he, appealing to
Jack. “What distance would you like to have it?”
“Vot you please, sare,” replied Monsieur, now depositing his tray
on the sideboard; “vot you please, sare, much or little; ten miles,
twenty miles, any miles he likes.”
“O, the fellow’s mad,” muttered Cuddy, with a jerk of his head,
making a last effort to be off.
“Don’t be in a hurry, Cuddy, don’t be in a hurry,” interposed
Heslop, adding, “he doesn’t understand it—he doesn’t understand
it.”
“O, I understands it, nicely, vell enough,” replied Jack, with a
shrug of his shoulders; “put us on to two orses, and see vich gets
first to de money post.”
“Aye, yes, exactly, to be sure, that’s all right,” asserted Paul
Straddler, looking up approvingly at Jack, “and you say you’ll beat
Mr. Flintoff?”
“I say I beat Mr. Flintoff,” rejoined Jack—“beat im dem vell too—
beat his ead off—beat him stupendous!” added he.
“O, dash it all, we can’t stand that, Caddy!” exclaimed Mr. Heslop,
nudging Mr. Flintoff; “honor of the country, honor of the hunt, honor
of England, honor of every thing’s involved.” Cuddy’s bristles were
now up too, and shaking his head and thrusting his hands deep into
his trousers pockets, “he declared he couldn’t stand that sort of
language,—shot if he could.”
“No; nor nobody else,” continued Mr. Heslop, keeping him up to
the indignity mark; “must be taught better manners,” added he with
a pout of the lip, as though fully espousing Caddy’s cause.
“Come along, then! come along!” cried Paul Straddler, flourishing
his dirty pen; “let’s set up a school for grown sportsmen. Now for
the good boys. Master Bushey-heath says he’ll ride Master Bareacres
a match across country—two miles say—for, for, how much?” asked
he, looking up.
This caused a pause, as it often does, even after dinner, and not
the less so in the present instance, inasmuch as the promoters of
the match had each a share in the risk. What would be hundreds in
other people’s cases becomes pounds in our own.
Flintoff and Straddler looked pacifically at each other, as much as
to say, “There’s no use in cutting each other’s throats, you know.”
“Suppose we say,” (exhibiting four fingers and a thumb, slyly to
indicate a five pound note), said Heslop demurely, after a conference
with Cuddy.
“With all my heart,” asserted Straddler, “glad it was no more.”
“And call it fifty,” whispered Heslop.
“Certainly!” assented Straddler, “very proper arrangement.”
“Two miles for fifty pounds,” announced Straddler, writing it down.
“P. P. I s’pose?” observed he, looking up.
“P. P.” assented Heslop.
“Now, what next?” asked Paul, feeling that there was something
more wanted.
“An umpire,” suggested Mr. Smoothley.
“Ah, to be sure, an umpire,” replied Mr. Straddler; “who shall it
be?”
“Sir Moses!” suggested several voices.
 “Sir Moses, by all means,” replied Straddler.
“Content,” nodded Mr. Heslop.
“It must be on a non-hunting day, then,” observed the Baronet,
speaking from the bottom of his tea-cup.
“Non-hunting day!” repeated Cuddy; “non-hunting day; fear that
‘ill not do—want to be off to town on Friday to see Tommy White’s
horses sold. Have been above a week at the Park, as it is.”
“You’ve been a fortnight to-morrow, sir,” observed the ticket-of-
leave butler (who had just come to announce the carriage) in a very
different tone to his usual urbane whisper.
“Fortnight to-morrow, have I?” rejoined Cuddy sheepishly;
“greater reason why I should be off.”
“O, never think about that! O, never think about that! Heartily
welcome, heartily welcome,” rejoined Sir Moses, stuffing his mouth
full of muffin, adding “Mr. Pringle will keep you company; Mr. Pringle
will keep you company.” (Hunch, munch, crunch.)
“Mr. Pringle must stop,” observed Mr. Straddler, “unless he goes
without his man.”
“To besure he must,” assented Sir Moses, “to be sure he must,”
adding, “stop as long as ever you like. I’ve no engagement till
Saturday—no engagement till Saturday.”
Now putting off our friend’s departure till Saturday just gave a
clear day for the steeple-chase, the next one, Thursday, being
Woolerton by Heckfield, Saturday the usual make-believe day at the
kennels; so of course Friday was fixed upon, and Sir Moses having
named “noon” as the hour, and Timberlake toll-bar as the
rendezvous, commenced a series of adieus as he beat a retreat to
the screen, where having resumed his wraps, and gathered his tail,
he shot down-stairs, and was presently re-ensconced in his carriage.
The remanets then of course proceeded to talk him and his friends
over, some wishing the Baronet mightn’t be too many for Billy,
others again thinking Cuddy wasn’t altogether the most desirable
acquaintance a young man could have, though there wasn’t one that
didn’t think that he himself was.
That topic being at length exhausted, they then discussed the
projected steeple-chase, some thinking that Cuddy was a muff,
others that Jack was, some again thinking they both were. And as
successive relays of hot brandy and water enabled them to see
matters more clearly, the Englishman’s argument of betting was
introduced, and closed towards morning at “evens,” either jockey for
choice.
Let us now take a look at the homeward bound party.
It was lucky for Billy that the night was dark and the road rough
with newly laid whinstones, for both Sir Moses and Cuddy opened
upon him most volubly and vehemently as soon as ever they got off
the uneven pavement, with no end of inquiries about Jack and his
antecedents. If he could ride? If he had ever seen him ride? If he
had ever ridden a steeplechase? Where he got him? How long he
had had him?
To most of which questions, Billy replied with his usual
monosyllabic drawling, “yarses,” amid jolts, and grinds, and gratings,
and doms from Sir Moses, and cusses from Cuddy, easing his
conscience with regard to Jack’s service, by saying that he had had
him “some time.” Some time! What a fine elastic period that is. We’d
back a lawyer to make it cover a century or a season. Very little
definite information, however, did they extract from Billy with regard
to Jack for the best of all reasons, that Billy didn’t know anything.
Both Cuddy and Sir Moses interpreted his ignorance differently, and
wished he mightn’t know more than was good for them. And so in
the midst of roughs and smooths, and jolts and jumps, and
examinings, and cross-examinings, and re-examinings, they at
length reached Pangburn Park Lodges, and were presently at home.
“Breakfast at eight!” said Sir Moses to Bankhead, as he alighted
from the carriage.
“Breakfast at eight, Pringle!” repeated he, and seizing a flat
candlestick from the half-drunken footman in the passage, he