_ Rather in-and-out-running, isn't it? (_Cries of distress
from the rear._) But what is the matter now? That poor dear Curate
again!
_The Curate_ (_in agony_). Here, I say, somebody! _do_ help me! Miss
STELLA, do speak to your monkey, please! It's jumped on my back, and
it's pulling my hair--'ow!
[_Most of the Competitors abandon their animals and rush to
the rescue._
_Dick Gatling_ (_coming up later_). Why on earth did you all jack
up like that? You've missed a splendid finish! My Mutton was forging
ahead like fun, when FANSHAWE's Peacock hoisted his sail, and drew
alongside, and it was neck and neck. Only, as he had more neck than
the Mutton, and stuck it out, he won by a beak. Look here, let's have
it all over again!
[_But the Monkey being up a tree, and the Colonel having
surreptitiously got rid of his Rabbit among the bracken,
and the Tortoise having retired within his shell and firmly
declined to come out again, sport is abandoned for the
afternoon, to the scarcely disguised relief of the Curate,
who is prevented from remaining to tea by the pressure of
parish-work.
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