A very short time after, he perceived advancing towards him, at the top of his speed, a jolly, comfortable-looking gentleman, followed by a servant, armed, as it appeared, for conflict. Tom took up a position, and waited the approach of the enemy.
"Hallo! you sir," said the squire, when within half-earshot, "what are you doing here, sir, eh?"
"I'm shooting, sir," said Tom.
"Do you know where you are, sir?" said the squire.
"I'm here, sir," said Tom.
"Here, sir," said the squire, growing angry; "and do you know where here is, sir? These, sir, are my manors; what d'ye think of that, sir, eh?"
"Why, sir, as to your manners," said Tom, "I can't say they seem over agreeable."
"I don't want any jokes, sir," said the squire, "I hate jokes. Who are you, sir?—what are you?"
"Why, sir," said Tom, "my name is Sheridan—I am staying at Lord Craven's—I have come out for some sport—I have not had any, and I am not aware that I am trespassing."
"Sheridan!" said the squire, cooling a little; "oh, from Lord Craven's, eh? Well, sir, I could not know that, sir—I——'