'He-leu, in!
Conqueror, old boy!' continued he, exclaiming loud enough for Mr. Sponge
who was drawing near to hear, 'find us a fox that'll give us five and forty
minnits!' the speaker inwardly hoping they might chop their bagman in
cover. 'Y-o-o-icks! rout him out!' continued he, getting more energetic.
'Y-o-o-icks! wind him! Y-o-o-icks! stir us hup a teaser!'
'No go, I think,' observed George Cheek, ambling up on his leggy weed.
'No go, ye young infidel,' growled Watchorn, 'who taught you to talk about
go's, I wonder? ought to be at school larnin' to cipher, or ridin' the
globes,' Mr. Watchorn not exactly knowing what the term 'use of the
globes,' meant. 'D'ye call that _nothin_'!' exclaimed he, taking off his
cap as he viewed the fox stealing along the gravel walk; adding to himself,
as he saw his even action, and full, well-tagged brush, ''Ord rot him, he's
got hold of the wrong 'un!'
It was, however, no time for thought. In an instant the welkin rang with
the outburst of the pack and the clamour of the field.
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