GETTING TO WORK 6i 



wear a top-hat, his cap not having come forward, 

 and his bowler being battered and green with age. 

 A gale of wind made the hounds, hurriedly snatched 

 together from the drafts of three or four kennels, wild 

 and unhandy after being off work for a fortnight 

 during an early frost. They had been half coaxed, 

 half threatened, into a plantation which generally held 

 a fox, and immediately ran riot, for unfortunately the 

 wood was full of hares, and a good deal of rating 

 had been heard, more professional than amateur. 

 Tom Telfer had seen a fox leave, and galloped round 

 to the huntsman, choking with excitement. 



*' What the — why the — where the deuce are you ? 

 Blow your horn, man, blow, the fox is away ! " 



Resenting being told in this fashion, the huntsman 

 retaliated : *' Crack your whip, man, crack ! " 

 " Man alive ! you blow your horn ! " 

 '* Snakes alive ! you crack your whip ! " 

 This was the beginning of the colloquy, and then 

 Tom roared to his superior : ^' It's your business to 

 gallop on and blow in front of the hounds to get them 



out ! " 



*' It's your place to go back behind hounds and 

 crack them out to me ! " 



^' Blow, blow, you blockhead, blow ! " 



'' Now, Tom, if you're going to sit there and sing 

 hymns to me we'll never get on. Crack ! crack ! you 

 crazy critter, crack ! Which way did you say he had 

 gone : 



But meanwhile two fast, jealous, and mute 

 hounds — Driver and Duster — had slipped away, not 

 unperceived by Tom Telfer, who straightway went 

 after them like a sky rocket, and the rest of the 



