'None of them here!' hiccuped Sir Harry, who had now got reeled to the window. 'None of them here,' repeated he, staring vacantly at the uneven pack. 'Oh (hiccup) I'll tell you what do—(hiccup) them into a barn or a stable, or a (hiccup) of any sort, and we'll send for them when we want to (hiccup) again.' 'Then just you call them to you,' replied Sponge, thinking they would go to their master. 'Just you call them,' repeated he, 'and I'll put them to you.'
'(Hiccup) call to them?' replied Harry. 'I can't (hiccup).'
'Oh yes!' rejoined Mr. Sponge; 'call one or two by their names, and the rest will follow.'
'Names! (hiccup) I don't know any of their nasty names,' replied Sir Harry, staring wildly.
'Towler! Towler! Towler! here, good dog—hoop!—here's your liquor!' cried brother Bob Spangles, holding the smoking tumbler of brandy-and-water out of the window, as if to tempt any hound that chose to answer to the name of Towler.
There didn't seem to be a Towler in the pack; at least, none of them qualified for the brandy-and-water.
'Oh, I'll (hiccup) you what we'll do,' exclaimed Sir Harry: 'I'll (hiccup) you what we'll do. 'We'll just give them a (hiccup) kick a-piece and send them (hiccuping) home,' Sir Harry reeling back into the room to the black horse-hair sofa, where his whip was.
He presently appeared at the door, and, going into the midst of the hounds, commenced laying about him, rating, and cutting, and kicking, and shouting.
SIR HARRY OF NONSUCH HOUSE