SCIENCE OF FOXHUNTING. 333 



fields are large enough for you to take a Hue of your 

 own, if you could do sucli a thing, without maiming 

 one of the best hounds in my kennel/^ 



" I would hang every one of them/^ muttered 

 Coventry; ^' a set of bow^- wowing loitering brutes, 

 always getting in a fellow's way, and Bill Headman 

 to boot. I say, George,'^ addressing his friend, '^ I 

 won't stand any more bull-ragging from that old 

 chap in buckskin and mahogany tops, and shall for 

 the future turn thistle-whipper; they can't do things 

 slower than Will Headman and his clod-crushers.'^ 



'^ Well, Sam, you can do as you please ; but 

 hounds can't run without a scent." 



" Yes they can, Tracy, and I have seen them do 

 it. Tom Harkaway makes them do it. Sure of a 

 run with him ; for if there's no scent at all, he takes 

 them up at half speed for three or four miles to the 

 next sure find, and there we are all right for another 

 spree." 



" Very well, Sam, then you had better smoke 

 your weed comfortably on your road home. I shall 

 stay to see the game played out, for, in my opinion, 

 we shall have something to do presently, which will 

 take the shine out of your highflyer." 



*^ Then if you'll hand me a couple of cigars — 

 mine were exhausted long ago at Cold Harbour 

 Wood, where we sat shivering in the cold for an 

 hour and a half, before this confounded old fox chose 

 to break covert — I don't mind stopping a bit 

 longer." 



This conversation took place when the hounds had 

 been brought to a check half way across the second 



