I looked down with some scorn at his large, clumsy hands. After all, were they so very clumsy, though? They were large and brown, but they were not without a certain shapeliness. They looked strong, too. He bore the glance with perfect equanimity, and, taking the two ends of the line into his hands, commenced to draw them tighter.
“Well, you see, I shall set the bone properly when I get back,” he said. “This is fairly done, though, for an amateur. Thank you—and good morning.”
He was turning brusquely away with the dog under his arm, but I stopped him.
“Who is Harrison?” I asked, “and why does he set traps?”
He frowned, evidently annoyed at having to stay and answer questions.
“Harrison is a small tenant farmer who objects to my crossing his land.”
“Objects to you crossing his land?” I repeated, vaguely.
“Yes, yes. I take these dogs after hares, you know—beagling, we call it. Sometimes I am forced to cross his farm if a hare is running, although I never go there for one. He objects, and so he sets traps.”
“Is he your tenant?” I asked.
“Yes.”