Graham had a reputation as a
Shropshire sheep-breeder; though not actually farming in the county,
his land was not unsuitable, and, on one occasion, I believe, he won
the first prize for a shearling ram at the show of the Royal
Agricultural Society of England.
I noticed a very non-agricultural individual in a top hat, who tried
to get into conversation with me and who succeeded in getting a
luncheon ticket gratis. These sale luncheons were at the time very
bountiful spreads, including plenty of champagne, and the man under my
observation made a very hearty meal. Short speeches and toasts always
follow, but an adjournment is quickly made to the sale tent, before
the evaporation of the effects of the hospitality. It is the custom
for a glove to be passed round to collect subscriptions for the
shepherd, during the progress of the sale, and on this occasion two
young fellows undertook the duty of collectors. The man, who had done
himself so well at Mr. Graham's expense, was evidently not buying or
even making bids, and to each of the collectors he said he had already
contributed to the other. Being suspicious they compared notes, and
found that he had made the same excuse to both. Such meanness after
the hospitality he had received was intolerable; shouting, "He's a
Welsher," they lifted him bodily, protesting and struggling, rushed
him out of the tent into a neighbouring field, and cast him into a
dirty pond covered with green and slimy duckweed! A miserable object
he scrambled out, for the pond was shallow, and took his dishevelled
and bedraggled presence away as fast as he could limp along, amid the
laughter and jeers of the crowd.
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