Watchorn having deposited himself on an entrance-hall chair--for it was a
roomy, well-furnished house, having been the steward's while there was
anything to take care of--Mrs. Watchorn proceeded to strip off his gaiters
while he drew on his boots and crowned himself with his cap. Mrs. Watchorn
then buckled on his spurs, and he hurried off, horn in hand, desiring her
to have him a basin of turtle-soup ready against he came in; adding, 'She
knew where to get it.' The frosty air then resounded with the twang, twang,
twang of his horn, and hounds began drawing up from all quarters, just as
sportsmen cast up at a meet from no one knows where.
'He-here, hounds--he-here, good dogs!' cried he, coaxing and making much of
the first-comers: 'he-here. Galloper, old boy!' continued he, diving into
his coat-pocket, and throwing him a bit of biscuit. The appearance of food
had a very encouraging effect, for forthwith there was a general rush
towards Watchorn, and it was only by rating and swinging his 'whop' about
that he prevented the pack from pawing, and perhaps downing him.
Pages:
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885