An Evening in July 



for his friends. The aroma of good cigars — 

 what good cigars huntsmen smoke when they 

 indulge in the fragrant weed — leads him to the 

 snug little summer-house at the bottom of the 

 garden, and as he comes within earshot he hears 

 one of his friends expatiating on the merits of 

 a hound that has not been among the placed 

 lot. 



" Harry is all for legs and feet," says he, 

 " and he can never see merit in a hound that is 

 not straight. Legs and feet are not much use 

 without necks and shoulders, and ribs. Warrior 

 is quite one of the right sort — good ribs, good 

 constitution. Not quite straight, that I am quite 

 willing to admit, but he has probably had dis- 

 temper bad — oh, he had, had he? Then he 

 will straighten with work. And if he doesn't, 

 well, there is not much fault to find, and he 

 looks like being there when foxes are killed. 

 And, after all, that is what hounds are wanted 

 for." 



The ball is fairly set rolling now, and the 

 argument waxes keen as legs and feet are dis- 

 cussed and as one huntsmen after another men- 



13 



