'Sc-e-e-use me, sir,' replied Bragg, leaning over his horse's shoulder, and whispering into Jack's ear; 'sc-e-e-use me, sir, but drop that, sir, if you please, sir.'
'Drop what?' asked Jack, squinting through his great tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles up into Bragg's face.
''Bout knowing of that 'ound, sir,' whispered Bragg; 'the fact is, sir—we call him Merryman, sir; master don't know I got him from you, sir.'
'O-o-o,' replied Jack, squinting, if possible, more frightfully than before.
'Ah, that's the hound I offered to Scamperdale,' observed Puffington, seeing the movement, and coming up to where Jack stood; 'that's the hound I offered to Scamperdale,' repeated he, taking the old dog's head between his hands. 'There's no better hound in the world than this,' continued he, patting and smoothing him; 'and no better bred hound either,' added he, rubbing the dog's sides with his whip.
'How is he bred?' asked Jack, who knew the hound's pedigree better than he did his own.
'Why, I got him from Reynard—no, I mean from Downeybird—the Duke, you know; but he was bred by Fitzwilliam—by his Singwell out of Darling. Singwell was by the Rutland Rallywood out of Tavistock Rhapsody; but to make a long story short, he's lineally descended from the Beaufort Justice.'
'Indeed!' exclaimed Jack hardly able to contain himself; 'that's undeniable blood.'
'Well, I'm glad to hear you say so,' replied Puffington. 'I'm glad to hear you say so, for you understand these things—no man better; and I confess I've a warm side to that Beaufort Justice blood.'