“It is most strange, sir,” said the Squire, riding up to the side of the offender, “that you should give yourself the trouble of hallooing, I pay three servants to do that work, and, although I am extremely obliged for your voluntary assistance, I shall feel much more indebted, as will many of the gentlemen present, if, for the rest of the day, you’ll hold your tongue.”
I never saw a muffin so browned in the whole course of my life. If he had been sworn at and called a parcel of hard names—which always recoil upon the utterers of them—he might have been made more angry; but nothing could be more effective than the rate from the cutting, gentlemanlike tone and manner which accompanied it.
In consequence of being scared with this halloo, the fox showed the greatest disinclination to break a second time, and the day being very warm, and the cover strong, we began to feel as if a spider had been spinning cobwebs in our throats.
“It’s choking work this,” said I.
“Yes,” replied Trimbush. “There’s no wind here. Let’s press him as hard as we can; for he feels it as well as us, recollect.”
We now rattled him up to the top of the cover, and, crossing a ride, Will Sykes viewed him, and giving us a ringing view-halloo, convinced us we were on our hunted fox.
“There’s a leash a-foot, sir,” said the huntsman, as the Squire now came to his assistance.
“Then get them as near to him as you can,” replied the Squire, “and prevent them getting on the other lines.”
Ned Adams now viewed the fox in a broad open ride, and hallooed, “Tally-ho!”
“Never mind,” said Trimbush, as I was about leaving the scent to fly to the halloo. “Ned Adams, like yourself,” continued he, “is young and cannot be depended upon. Keep your nose down; we are quite close enough to carry him over the other lines of scent without changing.”