“I think so too,” said the Major, drawing on his clean doeskin gloves. The pent-up hounds then raised another cry.
“That’s pretty!” exclaimed the Major listening
“That’s beautiful!” added he, like an enthusiastic admirer of music at the opera.
Imperturbable Billy spoke not.
“Pr’aps you’d like to see them unkenneled?” said the Major, thinking to begin with the first act of the drama.
“Yarse,” replied Billy, feeling safe as long as he was on foot.
The Major then led the way through a hen-house-looking door into a little green court-yard, separated by peeled larch palings from a flagged one beyond, in which the expectant pack were now jumping and frisking and capering in every species of wild delight.
“Ah, you beauties!” exclaimed the Major, again cracking his whip. He then paused, thinking there would surely be a little praise. But no; Billy just looked at them as he would at a pen full of stock at a cattle show.
“Be-be-beauties, ar’n’t they?” stuttered the Major.
“Yarse,” replied Billy; thinking they were prettier than the great lounging, slouching foxhounds.