202 THE HUNTING FIELD 



the offspring of the beer-shop. We never look at one 

 of their nasty, dingy, common-looking signs, without 

 thinking what apt prototypes they are of the squalor 

 within. But the hounds are away, and here is old 

 Bullwaist, as usual, getting in people's way. He 

 doesn't seem to like water a bit better than his nag. 

 "Now, old boy I" we fancy we hear this red-coated 

 buck exclaiming, as he dashes past, leaving old 

 "Waist" in the lurch. 



