The jersey and the shoes my mother and I purchased that very day, for the fear was upon me that unless we hastened, the last blue and white striped jersey in London might be sold, and the market be empty of running shoes. That evening, before getting into bed, I dressed myself in full costume to admire myself before the glass; and from then till the end of the week, to the terror of my mother, I practised leaping over chairs, and my method of descending stairs was perilous and roundabout. But, as I explained to them, the credit of the Lower Fourth was at stake, and banisters and legs equally of small account as compared with fame and honour; and my father, nodding his head, supported me with manly argument; but my mother added to her prayers another line. Saturday came. The members of the hunt were mostly boys who lived in the neighbourhood; so the arrangement was that at half-past two we should meet at the turnpike gate outside the Spaniards. I brought my lunch with me and ate it in Regent's Park, and then took the 'bus to the Heath. One by one the others came up. Beyond mere glances, none of them took any notice of me. I was wearing my ordinary clothes over my jersey. I knew they thought I had come merely to see them start, and I hugged to myself the dream of the surprise that was in store for them, and of which I should be the hero. He came, one of the last, our leader and chief, and I sidled up behind him and waited, while he busied himself organising and constructing. “But we've only got one hare,” cried one of them. “We ought to have two, you know, in case one gets blown.” “We've got two,” answered the Duke. “Think I don't know what I'm about? Young Kelver's going to be the other one.” Silence fell upon the meet. “Oh, I say, we don't want him,” at last broke in a voice. “He's a muff.” “He can run,” explained the Duke. “Let him run home,” came another voice, which was greeted with laughter. “You'll run home in a minute yourself,” threatened the Duke, “if I have any of your cheek. Who's captain here--you or me? Now, young 'un, are you ready?” I had commenced unbuttoning my jacket, but my hands fell to my side. “I don't want to come,” I answered, “if they don't want me.” “He'll get his feet wet,” suggested the boy who had spoken first. “Don't spoil him, he's his mother's pet.” “Are you coming or are you not?” shouted the Duke, seeing me still motionless. But the tears were coming into my eyes and would not go back. I turned my face away without speaking. “All right, stop then,” cried the Duke, who, like all authoritative people, was impatient above all things of hesitation. “Here, Keefe, you take the bag and be off. It'll be dark before we start.” My substitute snatched eagerly at the chance, and away went the hares, while I, still keeping my face hid, moved slowly off. “Cry-baby!” shouted a sharp-eyed youngster. “Let him alone,” growled the Duke; and I went on to where the cedars grew.