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