agle-boy. He took him on for the honour of Ethiopia.

"We only hunt twice a week--sometimes three times. I've never known a
man chastised more than four times a week unless there's a bye."

The large loose-lipped man flung his napkin down, came round the table,
cast himself into the chair next the Inspector, and leaned forward
earnestly, so that he breathed in the Inspector's face.

"Chastised with what?" he said.

"With the kourbash--on the feet. A kourbash is a strip of old hippo-hide
with a sort of keel on it, like the cutting edge of a boar's tusk. But
we use the rounded side for a first offender."

"And do any consequences follow this sort of thing? For the victim, I
mean--not for you?"

"Ve-ry rarely. Let me be fair. I've never seen a man die under the lash,
but gangrene may set up if the kourbash has been pickled."

"Pickled in what?" All the table was still and interested.

"In copperas, of course. Didn't you know that" said the Inspector.

"Thank God I didn't." The large man sputtered visibly.

The Inspector wiped his face and grew bolder.

"You mustn't think we're careless about our earthstoppers. We've a Hunt
fund for hot tar. Tar's a splendid dressing if the toe-nails aren't
beaten off. But huntin' as large a country as we do, we mayn't be back
at that village for a month, and if the dressings ain't renewed, and
gangrene sets in, often as not you find your man pegging about on his
stumps. We've a well-known local name for 'em down the river. We call
'em the Mudir's Cranes. You see, I persuaded the Governor only to
bastinado on one foot."

"On one foot? The Mudir's Cranes!" The large man turned purple to the
top of his bald head. "Would you mind giving me the local word for
Mudir's Cranes?"

From a too well-stocked memory the Inspector drew one short adhesive
word which surprises by itself even unblushing Ethiopia. He spelt it
out, saw the large man write it down on his cuff and withdraw. Then the
Inspector translated a few of its significations and implications to the
four Masters of Foxhounds. He left three days later with eight couple of
the best hounds in England--a free and a friendly and an ample gift from
four packs to the Gihon Hunt. He had honestly meant to undeceive the
large blue mottled man, but somehow forgot about it.

The new draft marks a new chapter in the Hunt's history. From an
isolated phenomenon in a barge it became a permanent institution with
brick-built kennels ashore,