The latter
was his present style. He had now no whiskers, but an immense protuberance
of bristly black hair, rising like a wave above his kerchief. Though he
cared no more about hunting than his master, he was very fond of his red
coat, which he wore on all occasions, substituting a hat for a cap when
'off duty,' as he called it. Having attired himself in his best scarlet, of
which he claimed three a year--one for wet days, one for dry days, another
for high days--very natty kerseymere shorts and gaiters, with a
small-striped, standing-collar, toilenette waistcoat, he proceeded to obey
the summons.
'Watchorn,' said Sir Harry, as the important gentleman appeared at the
breakfast-room door--'Watchorn, these young (hiccup) gentlemen want a
(hiccup) hunt.'
'Oh! want must be their master, Sir 'Arry,' replied Watchorn, with a broad
grin on his flushed face, for he had been drinking all night, and was half
drunk then.
'Can't you manage it?' asked Sir Harry, mildly.
''Ow is't possible. Sir 'Arry,' asked the huntsman, ''ow is't possible? No
man's fonder of 'untin' than I am, but to turn out on sich a day as this
would be a daring--a desperate violation of all the laws of registered
propriety.
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