Digital primer

'Oh, sir,' replied Bragg, with a smirk and a condescending bow, 'if Richard
Bragg can't kill foxes, I don't know who can.'
Just then 'Puffington and Co.' hove in sight up the valley, their faces
beaming with delight as the tableau before them told the tale. They
hastened to the spot.
'How many brace is that?' asked Puffington, with the most matter-of-course
air, as he trotted up, and reined in his horse outside the circle.
'Seventeen brace, your grace, I mean to say my lord, that's to say _sur_,'
replied Bragg, with a strong emphasis on the _sur_, as if to say, 'I'm not
used to you snobs of commoners.'
'Seventeen brace!' sneered Jack Spraggon to Sponge, adding, in a whisper,
'More like _seven_ foxes.'
'And how many run to ground?' asked Puffington, alighting.
'Four brace,' replied Bragg, stooping to cut off the brush.
We were wrong in saying that Bragg only allowed Puff the privilege of
nodding his head to say when he might throw off. He let him lead the 'lie
gallop' in the kill department.
Mr. Puffington then presented Mr.


Pages:
516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540