'Hardly,' said Seedeybuck, turning about to ask Sir Harry.
'What!—you are going to give Watchorn a tussle, are you?' asked Captain Cutitfat of George Cheek, as the latter began adjusting the fox-toothed riband about his hat.
'I believe you,' replied George, with a knowing jerk of his head; adding, 'it won't take much to beat him.'
'What! he's a slow 'un, is he?' asked Cutitfat, in an undertone.
'Slowest coach I ever saw,' growled George.
'Won't ride, won't he?' asked the Captain.
'Not if he can help it,' replied George, adding, 'but he's such a shocking huntsman—never saw such a huntsman in all my life.'
George's experience lay between his Uncle Jellyboy, who rode eighteen stone and a half, Tom Scramble, the pedestrian huntsman of the Slowfoot hounds, near Mr. Latherington's, and Mr. Watchorn. But critics, especially hunting ones, are all ready made, as Lord Byron said.
'Well, we'd better disperse and get ready,' observed Bob Spangles, making for the door; whereupon the tide of population flowed that way, and the room was presently cleared.