Then it is that the talker shines supreme. All the
conversation which may have been broken in upon during the morning by
the necessity for posting yourself at the hot corner, or the grassy
ride, or in the butt, or for polishing off a right and left of
partridges, can then flow free and uninterrupted. Ah, happy moments,
when the bad shot becomes as the good, and all distinctions are
levelled! How well, how gratefully do I remember you! Still, in my
waking fancies, there rises to my nose a savoury odour, telling of
stew or hot-pot, and still the crisp succulence of the jam tartlet
has honour in my memory. Ah, _tempi passati, tempi passati_! But away,
fancy, and to our work, which is to speak of
SHOOTING-LUNCHES
in their relation to talk:--
(1.) Be extremely careful, unless you know exactly the ways of your
host with regard to his shooting-lunch, not to express to him before
lunch any very definite opinion as to what the best kind of lunch
is. If, for instance, you rashly declare that, for your own part, you
detest a solemn sit-down-in-a-farmhouse lunch, and that your ideal
is a sandwich, a biscuit and a nip out of a flask, and if you then
find yourself lunching off three courses at a comfortable table, why
you'll be in a bit of a hole. Consistency would prompt you to abstain,
appetite urges you to eat. What is a poor talker to do? Obviously, he
must get out somehow. Here is a suggested method. Begin by admiring
the room.
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