His speculations were interrupted by arriving at the kennel, and finding
the door fast, he looked under the slate, and above the frame, and inside
the window, and on the wall, for the key; and his shake, and kick, and
clatter were only answered by a full chorus from the excited company
within.
'Hang the feller! what's got 'im!' exclaimed he, meaning Joe Haggish, the
feeder, whom he expected to find there.
Joe, however, was absent; not holiday-making, but on a diplomatic visit to
Mr. Greystones, the miller, at Splashford, who had positively refused to
supply any more meal, until his 'little bill' (L430) for the three previous
years was settled; and flesh being very scarce in the country, the hounds
were quite light and fit to go. Joe had gone to try and coax Greystones out
of a ton or two of meal, on the strength of its being New Year's Day.
'Dash the feller! wot's got'im?' exclaimed Watchorn, seizing the latch, and
rattling it furiously. The melody of the hungry pack increased. ''Ord rot
the door!' exclaimed the infuriated huntsman, setting his back against it;
at the first push, open it flew.
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