“Where to, now, please Sir Moses?” asked Tom, with a touch of his cap, as soon as he had got them all out.
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“Tally-ho!” cries Captain Luff, in a most stentorian strain—adding immediately, “Oh no! I’m mistaken, It’s a hare!” as half the hounds break away to his cry.
“Oh, dom you and your noise,” cries Sir Moses, in well-feigned disgust, adding—“Why don’t you put your spectacles on?”
Luff looks foolish, for he doesn’t know what to say, and the excitement dies out in a laugh at the Captain’s expense.
“Where to, now, please, Sir Moses?” again asks Tom, chuckling at his master’s displeasure, and thinking how much better it would have been if he had let him go to the supper.
“Where you please,” growled the Baronet, scowling at Luff’s nasty rusty Napoleons—“where you please, you said Shillington, didn’t you—anywhere, only let us find a fox,” added he, as if he really wanted one.