But, in order that the purpose of this work may be fulfilled, and the conversational method inculcated, I here give a short “Ladies-at-lunch-dialogue,” phonographically recorded, as a party of five guns was approaching the place of lunch, at about 1:30 P.M.

First Sportsman (addressing his companion).  Now then, TOMMY, my son, just smarten yourself up a bit, and look pretty.  The ladies are coming to lunch.

Tommy (horror—­struck.) What? The women coming to lunch?  No, hang it all, you’re joking.  Say you are—­do!

First Sp. Joking?  Not I!  I tell you six solid women are going to lunch with us.  I heard ’em all talking about it after breakfast, and thinking it would be, oh, such fun!  By the way, I suppose you know you’ve got a hole in your knickerbockers.

Tommy (looking down, and perceiving a huge and undisguisable rent).  Good Heavens! so I have.  I must have done it getting over the last fence.  Isn’t it awful?  I can’t show like this.  Have you got any pins?

    [The Keeper eventually promises that there shall be pins at
    the farm-house.

Another Sportsman (bringing up the rear with a companion).  Hope we shan’t be long over lunch.  There’s a lot of ground to cover this afternoon, and old SYKES tells me they’ve got a splendid head of birds this year, I always think—­(He breaks off suddenly; an expression of intense alarm comes over his face.) Why, what’s that?  No, it can’t be.  Yes, by Jingo, it is.  It’s the whole blessed lot of women come out to lunch, my wife and all.  Well, poor thing, she couldn’t help it.  Had to come with the rest, I suppose.  But it’s mean of CHALMERS—­I swear it is.  He ought not to have allowed it.  And then, never to let on about it to us.  Well, my day’s spoilt, if they come on with us afterwards.  I couldn’t shoot an ostrich sitting with a woman chattering:  to me.  Miss CHICKWEED’s got her eye on you.  LLOYD.  She’s marked you.  No good trying to do a ramp.  You’re nailed, my boy, nailed!

Lloyd. Hang Miss CHICKWEED!  She half killed me last night with all kinds of silly questions.  Asked me to be sure and bring her home a rocketing rabbit, because she’d heard they were very valuable.  Why can’t the women stay at home?

    [They walk on moodily.

A few minutes later.  Lunch has just begun.

Miss Chickweed (middle-aged, but skittish).  Oh, you naughty men, how long you have kept us waiting!  Now, Captain LLOYD, did you shoot really well?  Or, were you thinking of—­Well, perhaps I oughtn’t to say.  See how discreet I am.  But do tell me, all of you, exactly how many birds you shot—­I do so like to hear about it.  You begin, Captain LLOYD.  How many did you shoot? (Without waiting for an answer.) I’m sure you must have shot a dozen.  Yes, I guess a dozen.  And, oh, do give me a feather for my hat!  It will be so nice to have a real feather to put in it.  And we’ve got such a treat for you.  MARY, you tell them.  No, I’ll tell them myself.  If you’re all very good at lunch, we’re going to walk with you a little afterwards.  There!