Galloping on the line where three or four couple of the knowing ones were feathering their sterns and ringing their music, I for the first time winded a fox. Anxious to distinguish myself, I at once began making more din about it than all the old hounds put together.
“Don’t jingle your tongue as if you were currant-jelly hunting,” said Trimbush, contemptuously, as I joined his side. “A workman,” continued he, “never wastes his breath with too much whistling.”
Feeling that there was truth in his chiding, I changed my tone, and gave tongue only when my friend did.
“That’s right,” remarked Trimbush, flattered at my observing his dictate: “now you sound like business.”
“Have at him!” hallooed Will Sykes. “Yoo-oo-it, hoik!”
Hounds were now hunting in every direction of the cover; and it was evident that several foxes were before them.
“The vixen and the whole litter are a-foot!” I overheard the first whip say.
“Did you view her?” inquired Will Sykes.
“Yes!” was the reply; “and she’s gone away.”
“Then there’s a dog-fox behind,” rejoined the huntsman.