"Never heard such a thing in my life," said the non-subscriber, falling into the trap. "Dashed piece of impudence; sort of thing one might expect in this benighted country. I'm dashed if I'm going round; I shall go through the beggar's garden;" and he proceeded to put his threat into execution by riding at the hedge.
As he rose at the fence the farmer's face was seen peeping round the gate, and as the horse descended into the garden a terrific smash was heard, followed by a loud altercation with, "Damage to my glass and pots and that there bed of young stuff," etc. etc. The next morning the owner of the large stud was presented with a bill of costs to the amount of £20, which, after a deal of blustering, he paid, fifteen sovereigns finding their way into Mr. Boulter's cash-box, the remaining five amply repaying the market-gardener for the loss of two broken and useless lights, a few cabbage-stalks, and a selection of old pots, which he, together with the Secretary, had placed under the hedge at likely spots.
Thus did Mr. Boulter score, and he enjoys nothing so much as telling the story of how he trapped the stranger, though, by-the-way, the same story increases in dramatic incident year by year.
Most amusing it is to watch the reception of the Secretary as he rides up on his famous jumping cob. Those who have paid up greet him with: "Morning, Boulter; you're looking very fit;" and sometimes, when perchance he is arrayed more gorgeously than usual as to his headpiece, "What! a new hat? Dash it all, but that's the second this season; there'll be no money left if you go buying hats like this out of the fund. Here, Lappington" (to the Master), "here's the Secretary been embezzling again, and broken out into another new topper." While those who have as yet not forwarded their subscription nod him a good-morning, and then somehow their steeds, which up to the present have been behaving in a most rational manner, suddenly get excited, and it requires the undivided attention of their riders to prevent them running away.
In fact, they do run away until they manage to place a convenient distance between themselves and the jumping cob. The Secretary, however, is fully up to all these little dodges, and generally brings down confusion on one or other member by saying with a chuckle: "Dear me, So-and-so, what a funny thing it is, your horse is always fidgety when I come near him. One would think he was afraid of being asked for a subscription, and forgets that his master has paid." After a pause: "By Jove, no! I'm wrong and the horse is right. Your cheque has not come yet. What a sensible beast the animal is!" He says this is a most infallible remedy, and that the following morning he invariably finds a letter on his table enclosing the required article, and apologising for forgetfulness.