“Listen,” returned the old hound, checking my impetuosity, “and you shall hear. I was not bred in this kennel, but came from the west at the end of my first season. It so happened that about the middle of this season, and when all of us were full of fire and devilry, our regular whipper-in died, and his place became filled by a perfect stranger to us. His cottage being within a short distance, he could hear any quarrel or disturbance, and was ready to quell it at a moment’s notice. Trifles light as air, I’ve heard, will frequently cause the most vital consequences; and such was the case that I am alluding to. A ray of the moon, streaming through a chink in the door of our lodging-house, occasioned a hound of the name of Restless to bay it. This broke the sleep of all; and in a few minutes a regular fight began, each running a-muck and attacking friend and foe with equal want of consideration. In order to quell the row, the whipper-in made his appearance amongst us, as he quitted his bed, undressed; but scarcely had he lifted the latch of the entrance, when—not recognising his voice or his person—he was seized by the throat; and, before the morning light, there was nothing left but a cleanly picked skeleton.”
“I’m not surprised at his death, under the circumstances,” rejoined I; “but to eat him!”
“In my opinion,” added Trimbush, “that was the most innocent part of the affair.”
“And how,” said I, curious to learn further particulars, “how did he taste?”
“Take my word for it,” replied the old hound, in a tone and manner conveying much conviction of the correctness of the assertion, “take my word for it,” repeated he, “that with a little broth, daintier food could not be eaten.”
“Who was the first to discover the remains?”
“Our feeder,” returned he.
“And what did he say?”
“Well!” added Trimbush, scratching an ear with his off hind foot, as if tickled with the reminiscence which the question created, “I should observe, in the first place,” continued he, “that Harry Bolton, our feeder, was one of the coolest fellows that ever boiled a copper of kit, and never known to exhibit the slightest astonishment at anything. Whenever he read an astounding piece of news in the County Chronicle—natural phenomenon, accident, or offence, or anything sufficient to cause the generality of his neighbours’ hair to stand on end was related to him—his short unchanging observation was, ‘Shouldn’t wonder!’ However, thought I, the ice of your surprise will be broken at last.”