CHAPTER LI
FARMER PEASTRAW'S DINE-MATINEE
There are pleasanter situations than being left alone with twenty couple of
even the best-mannered fox-hounds; far pleasanter situations than being
left alone with such a tearing, frantic lot as composed Sir Harry
Scattercash's pack. Sportsmen are so used (with some hounds at least) to
see foxes 'in hand' that they never think there is any difficulty in
getting them there; and it is only a single-handed combat with the pack
that shows them that the hound does not bring the fox up in his mouth like
a retriever. A tyro's first _tete-a-tete_ with a half-killed fox, with the
baying pack circling round, must leave as pleasing a souvenir on the
memory as Mr. Gordon Cumming would derive from his first interview with a
lion.
Our friend Mr. Sponge was now engaged with a game of 'pull devil, pull
baker' with the hounds for the fox, the difficulty of his situation being
heightened by having to contend with the impetuous temper of a
high-couraged, dangerous horse. To be sure, the gallant Hercules was a good
deal subdued by the distance and severity of the pace, but there are few
horses that get to the end of a run that have not sufficient kick left in
them to do mischief to hounds, especially when raised or frightened by the
smell of blood; nevertheless, there was no help for it.
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