Digital primer

Can you, Capon?'
exclaimed Fossick, appealing to another of the 'flat brims,' whose luminous
face now shone through the fog.
'No,' replied Capon, adding, 'not so much, I should say.'
Just then up trotted Frostyface with the hounds.
'Good morning, Frosty! good morning!' exclaim half-a-dozen voices, that it
would be difficult to appropriate from the denseness of the fog. Frosty and
the whips make a general salute with their caps.
'Well, Frosty, I suppose you've heard what a run we had yesterday?'
exclaims Charley Slapp, as soon as Frosty and the hounds are settled.
'Had they, sir--had they?' replies Frosty, with a slight touch of his cap
and a sneer. 'Glad to hear it, sir--glad to hear it. Hope they killed,
sir--hope they killed!' with a still slighter touch of the cap.
'Killed, aye!--killed in the open just below Crabstone Green, in _your_
country,' adding, 'It was one of your foxes, I believe.'
'Glad of it, sir--glad of it, sir,' replies Frosty. 'They wanted blood
sadly--they wanted blood sadly. Quite welcome to one of our foxes,
sir--_quite_ welcome.


Pages:
404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428