Greatness, Daisy and Home Ruler, an enormous tan bitch with one ear, were sneaking off to draw for themselves; the place might be alive with hares.
Andy whipped two back, and Darby yelled at Carty to follow Home Ruler.
"Get round them, you—idiot!" he roared.
Carty, soliloquizing feverishly that it was the world he would be round if the chestnut carried on them games, or maybe chargin' Germans before he knew what was what, endeavoured to steer his nervous steed in the direction of Home Ruler's tan hind-quarters.
But it was Gheena who drove the prodigal back to fox-hunting.
The Field having come out, expected, as fox-hunters will, that this motley collection were to be as well ordered and obedient as Tom Lindlay's pack. Observing the difficulties, they decided, very audibly that it was perhaps better to leave a country alone than to botch it in this fashion; and as it would evidently be of very little use to come out riding, better try on foot.
Mr. O'Gorman, who had, almost forgotten what his feet looked like, said "Yes," briskly, "or in a motor-car."
"You'll have to get off and go in, George," said Darby. "I can't go crippling and hobbling up that bank."
"An' if meself comes along with ye," said Andy. "Blow a blasht on ye're bugle, yer honor, now to hearten them."
George Freyne looked heatedly at the empty case, got down with a grunt, and pompously marched toward the bank.