WHAT HO!

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 13802, 20 November 1942, Page 7

WHAT HO!

I ' " »nf the forty-four t evoked lively : '> and !l guests had alJ*£ the Great Hall, W d l were in various <JS did not deter the ,:^ i;h f duty to the full. lied, Ernest said. :::1 down to dinner. l ' must," said the earl. : '*£**» besides n( ; en * < looking forward to ** aid the earl. "Sir J* for one. »%* heard of Sir Peter l l3ffleS ounds familiar/' said though it didn't ; ~ h e to a financier, said »**? Peter is what you *; bWOU id call a 'big shot JJ£, an( i what we correct : i fa „'abigpotintheCit y .' fJatTyler," said Ernest. Of Reheard of him." Dd he could have a cosy * m about monopolies, pools, ** sil .," said Ernest firmVthefact is, I feel an attack .; old complaint stealing .on me.' L|d complaint- What is it? M know the scientific name .'■ sa i,l Ernest, "but in America Htcaterpiller stomach." t j; serious, I trust." . :!JO . Not if you stay in bed liar and a night." [,so sorry, Ernest. It means to the dinner and the hunt and

lay recover in time to attend ::!!," said Ernest. Hope so," said the earl, and [down to join the guests. ars would have found no pis of caterpillar stomach .leyexamined Ernest; but they lj have found signs of stageKiith complications of shyness :;ilonby a lack of proper eventin. - : ie entered his tower chamber, 73 single sickly bulb, he gave a Hhere seemed to be a black l lying on his bed. A second it stowed him that it was a dinil. To the lapel of the coat Jinnetl a note. It read: ■'Hr Bingley:: i»pe you -will not think me forth! having on hand this suit, W the property of Hon. P. * now grown too obese for ■1 venture to hope it may be of 'Jjou. Respectfully and gratefully. Your obedt. servt., C Crump. "Trist trousers are not too k rfclna continues to wag and ?in a most satisfactory manv.. . *'Pinned. "Good old Crump," *M succumbed to the tempting the suit on—the first llliß life he had ever entered NNe. The coat fitted him g M of an asp, and the ■ looker as if they had been ; ,B J He started for the dining alkln ?> for reasons of prucareful, short, stiff steps parade of the wooden L "J* and he entered the £j simultaneously, and he I ' ** from the birds. Food er « were for the moment ~' J s the diners stared at c,,' foiled Crump to a i W j B »ph, walking with th.e 1< M\l SOmnatnbulist - Wilis seat was next to ?!" aCe f °r you," she ba d a hunch you were ;, e J more or less coverts Ernest - The >- °«ted when be ate his W^ al, manNfe itinto the *%, bat "as it passed : over Er- !'%.' e to \ maU plane - " iCal bran <> o f ... * 10X tilll\v> Ho °Per. -'Listen!

i V en ln the J*rie. a ch °rus of bays,

A NOVEL

B Y RICHARD CONNELL

"Their appetites will be whetted for to-morrow's runn," said Sir Peter Tyler. He looked like a bank and pitched bis words with care, as if he were taking them, word by word, from a safe-deposit box. After dinner Ernest, in spite of some nimble dodging, found himself pinned in an alcove by the famous financier. "You're oil, steel, and wool, aren't you?" said Sir Peter. "Yes, sir," replied Ernest, and saw no harm in adding, "Also furs, fish, and bananas." "Steamships, foodstuffs, sugar, and diamonds myself,' said Sir Peter. "No pig iron?" "Not at the moment. Later, perhaps. Profit in pig iron, what?" "It depends," said Ernest. "Quite so," agreed the banker. "How's money in the States?" "Scarce." "Tight, eh,?" "Tight as —as trousers," answered Ernest. Unseen by Sir Peter, Ernest made which he hoped she would interpret a grimace at the passing Rosa, as a signal to come to his rescue. "Would it be discreet to inquire it* you contemplate making any investments in England?" asked Sir Peter.

"I may," said Ernest. "And I may not. It depends."

"On whether a good thing comes your way, I take it," said Sir Peter with a fraternal wink. Then Rosa came up to them. "May I borrow Mr Bingley, Sir Peter?" she said. 'l'll pay whatever interest you wish to charge." "I cannot refuse a loan to so charming lady," said the banker with a bow. Ernest waltzed with Rosa. Also with the Countess of Bathberry. "Why, you're a rather nice young man," remarked the countess. "Thank you." ."When do you turn into a monster?" "Not till midnight," said Ernest. After the younger guests had danced and talked horse, and older guests had played bridge and talked horse, the Earl of Bingley shooed them off to bed at eleven. "Do your napping now," he urged. "The back of a hunter is no place for a snooze. Breakfast at seven sharp. dreams to one and all. Bingley Castle lay wrapped in the cotton woll of slumber. No sound could be heard. After hours of outcry, the hounds were resting their tired tongues and throats. As he drifted into a dream, Ernest heard the distant clock in the village steeple toll a drowsy one. Ernest was lost in a dream in which he was dancing with Rosa on a desert isle, when the cyclone struck the castle and blew him out of dreamland and his bed. At least it seemed to Ernest's sleep-drugged brain that only a cyclone could cause the commotion that had broken loose. Women screamed. Men shouted. Dogs added yells and bays to the hellish chorus. Clattering feet raced along corridors. Doors slammed. That state reigned which is neatly summed up in the word pandemoni-

Ernest lit on his feet and was about to dash out when he remem bered the sleeping cub. He caught it up, held it tight to his pyjamaclad chest, and dived from his room. Blasts of noise hurtled down the corridor and belaboured his ears. Above the tumult he heard a sound he had come to know —the bloodthirsty song of a pack of foxhounds in full cry. The baby fox, recognising the voices of its mother's assassins and sensing its own peril, tried to burrow into Ernest's bosom, whimpering piteously The sound of the hounds grew louder. They were coming that way, and coming fast.

Blindly Ernest tore down the corridor, away from the onrushing battalion of death. A door stopped him, but only for an instant. He lunged against it, it gave, and he tumbled headlong into the room. It happened to be the bedroom occupied by the Duke and Duchess of Beddingdou. The hounds were close at Ernest s heels now.

The duchess, her hair like a frightwig, was shrieking ••Police!"; the duke had caught up a bedside brandy bottle and was brandishing it, ready to defend life, limb, and the honour of the Beddingdons.

fTo be continued)