"What ducks of hounds those are!" says Tom, trying, for ulterior purposes, to ingratiate himself. "How they are working there all by themselves, like so many human beings. Perfect!"
"Yes—don't want us—may as well sit here a minute. Awfully hot, eh?
What a splendid creature that Miss St. Just is! I say, Peter!"
"Yes, sir," shouts Peter, from the other side.
"Those hounds ain't right!" with an oath.
"Not right, sir?"
"Didn't I tell you?—five couple and a half—no, five couple—no, six. Hang it! I can't see, I think! How many hounds did I tell you to bring out?"
"Five couple, sir."
"Then … why did you bring out that other?"
"Which other?" shouts Peter, while Thurnall eyes Trebooze keenly.
"Why that! He's none o' mine! Nasty black cur, how did he get here?"