"This is Free Hedgercation in Shindy," sez I. "They're as mad as March
hares,
All these Limboites, dear Miss DIANNER. We do it _much_ better
downstairs!"
She smiled kinder scoffish, I fancied, and give 'er white shoulders a
hunch.
Says she; "I've no comments to make. It's along of my friend _Mr. Punch_
Whom the whole Solar System obeys, and the Court of Olympus respects,
That I wait on you 'ere, Mister ARRY. Pray what would you like to see
next?"
"Well," sez I, with a glance at her gaiters, "I've heard you're a whale,
Miss, at Sport.
Do you 'know anythink' wuth my notice?" She gave me a look of a sort,
As I can't put in words, not exactly, a sort o' cold _scorch_,
dontcherknow.
That's a bit of a parrydocks p'raps; anyhow, it hurt wus than a blow.
But we went on the fly once agen--can't say 'ow it wos managed, but soon
We 'ad passed to a rum-looking region--the opposite side of the Moon,
Where no mortal afore had set foot, nor yet eyes, Miss DIANNER declared.
"Here's a Region of Sport!" sez the lady. Good Gracechurch Street, mate,
'ow I stared!
Seemed a sort of a blend-like of Hepsom, and Goodwood, and Altcar, mixed
up
With the old Epping 'Unt and new Hurlingham, thoughts of the Waterloo Cup,
Swell Polo and Pigeon-match tumbled about in my mind, while the din
Was like Putney Reach piled on a Prizefight, with Kennington Oval chucked
in.
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