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Waffles.
'No--o--o,' replied Tom, adding, 'there's no fear of that.'
'But he swears he _will_!' exclaimed Mr. Caingey Thornton. 'He swears there
isn't a man shall come within a field of him.'
'Indeed,' observed Tom, with a twinkle of his little bright eyes.
'I tell you what, Tom,' observed Mr. Waffles, 'we must sarve him out,
somehow.'
'Oh! he'll sarve hissel' out, in all probability,' replied Tom; carelessly
adding, 'these boastin' chaps always do.'
'Couldn't we contrive something,' asked Mr. Waffles, 'to draw him out?'
Tom was silent. He was a hunting huntsman, not a riding one.
'Have a glass of something,' said Mr. Waffles, again appealing to the Fox's
head.
'Thank you, sir, I've had a glass,' replied Tom, sinking the second one.
'What will you have?' asked Mr. Waffles.
'Port, if you please,' replied Tom.
'Here it is,' rejoined Mr. Waffles, again handing him the measure.
Up went the cup, over went the contents; but Tom set it down with a less
satisfied face than before. He had had enough.


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