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'Killed him, sir,' replied Tom, with the slightest possible touch of the
cap. (Bouncer was no tip.)
'Indeed!' exclaimed Bouncer, gaily, with that sort of sham satisfaction
that most people express about things that can't concern them in the least.
'Indeed! I'm deuced glad of that! Where did you kill him?'
'At the back of Mr. Plummey's farm-buildings, at Shapwick,' replied Tom;
adding, 'but, my word, he led us a dance afore we got there--up to
Ditchington, down to Somerby, round by Temple Bell Wood, cross Goosegreen
Common, then away for Stubbington Brooms, skirtin' Sanderwick Plantations,
but scarce goin' into 'em, then by the round hill at Camerton leavin' great
Heatherton to the right, and so straight on to Shapwick, where we killed,
with every hound up--'
'God bless me!' exclaimed Bouncer, apparently lost in admiration, though he
scarcely knew the country; 'God bless me!' repeated he, 'what a run! The
finest run that ever was seen.'
'Nine miles in twenty-five minutes,' replied Tom, tacking on a little both
for time and distance.


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