'I'll do my best,' replied Tom, cautiously running the many contingencies through his mind.
'Take another drop of something,' said Mr. Waffles, again raising the Fox's head. 'What'll you have?'
'Port, if you please,' replied Tom.
'There,' said Mr. Waffles, handing him another bumper; 'drink Fox-hunting.'
'Fox-huntin',' said old Tom, quaffing off the measure, as before. A flush of life came into his weather-beaten face, just as a glow of heat enlivens a blacksmith's hearth, after a touch of the bellows.
'You must never let this bumptious cock beat us,' observed Mr. Waffles.
'No—o—o,' replied Tom, adding, 'there's no fear of that.'
'But he swears he will!' exclaimed Mr. Caingey Thornton. 'He swears there isn't a man shall come within a field of him.'
'Indeed,' observed Tom, with a twinkle of his little bright eyes.
'I tell you what, Tom,' observed Mr. Waffles, 'we must sarve him out, somehow.'