"Where's your master?" said the Duke. "Is he back?"
"Heh?"
"Where the deuce is your infernal master?"
"'Ereabouts," replied Mr. Minnidick calmly, despite renewed and furious whispers of "Throw sprouts over me! Cover me up!" from the paragon.
"Where the deuce is that?"
"Where I'm a-standin' of," replied Mr. Minnidick, indicating Mr. Bush with the favourite hoe.
The Duke leaped from his horse.
"Here, catch hold, Rodney!" he cried, flinging the reins to the owner of Mitching Dean, who, failing to grasp them, permitted the animal to gallop from the spot at the rate of about twenty miles an hour.
"Rodney, you're the ——dest muddler I ever met in the whole course of my life!" said the Duke witheringly, as he tied up the remaining horse and proceeded to scramble over the hedge in a most murderous and determined manner.