“There would have wanted two to that bargain, Captain,” said Mr. Runciman.
“Of course there would, but what would you think of a man who would refuse such a proposition when he didn’t want the place himself? Do you think if I’d been there foxes would have been poisoned in Dillsborough wood? I’d have had that fellow Goarly under my thumb.”
“Then you’d have had an awful blackguard under your thumb, Captain Glomax,” said Larry, who could not restrain his wrath when Goarly’s name was mentioned.
“What does that matter, if you get foxes?” continued the Master. “But the fact is, gentlemen in a county like this always want to have everything done for them, and never to do anything for themselves. I’m sick of it, I know. Nobody is fonder of hunting a country than I am, and I think I know what I’m about.”
“That you do,” said Fred Botsey, who, like most men, was always ready to flatter the Master.
“And I don’t care how hard I work. From the first of August till the end of May I never have a day to myself, what with cubbing and then the season, and entering the young hounds, and buying and selling horses, by George I’m at it the whole year!”
“A Master of Hounds looks for that, Captain,” said the innkeeper.
“Looks for it! Yes; he must look for it. But I wouldn’t mind that, if I could get gentlemen to pull a little with me. I can’t stand being out of pocket as I have been, and so I must let them know. If the country would get the kennels and the stables, and lay out a few pounds so that horses and hounds and men could go into them, I wouldn’t mind having a shot for the house. It’s killing work where I am now, the other side of Rufford, you may say.” Then he stopped;—but no one would undertake to answer him. The meaning of it was that Captain Glomax wanted £500 a year more than he received, and everyone there knew that there was not £500 a year more to be got out of the country—unless Lord Rufford would put his hand into his pocket. Now the present stables and the present kennels had been “made comfortable” by Lord Rufford, and it was not thought probable that he would pay for the move to Bragton.
“When’s the funeral to be, Mr. Masters?” asked Runciman—who knew very well the day fixed, but who thought it well to get back to the subject of real interest in the town.
“Next Thursday, I’m told.”
“There’s no hurry with weather like this,” said Nupper professionally.
“They can’t open the will till the late squire is buried,” continued the innkeeper, “and there will be one or two very anxious to know what is in it.”
“I suppose it will all go to the man who lives up here at Hoppet Hall,” said the Captain—“a man that was never outside a horse in his life!”
“He’s not a bad fellow,” said Runciman.
“He is a very good fellow,” said the Attorney, “and I trust he may have the property. If it be left away from him, I for one shall think that a great injustice has been done.” This was listened to with attention, as everyone there thought that Mr. Masters must know.
“I can’t understand,” said Glomax, “how any man can be considered a good fellow as a country gentleman who does not care for sport. Just look at it all round. Suppose others were like him what would become of us all?”
“Yes indeed, what would become of us?” asked the two Botseys in a breath.
“Ho’d ’ire our ’orses, Runciman?” suggested Harry Stubbings with a laugh.
“Think what England would be!” said the Captain. “When I hear of a country gentleman sticking to books and all that, I feel that the glory is departing from the land. Where are the sinews of war to come from? That’s what I want to know.”
“Who will it be, Mr. Masters, if the gent don’t get it?” asked Ribbs from his corner on the sofa.
This was felt to be a pushing question. “How am I to know, Mr. Ribbs?” said the Attorney. “I didn’t make the late squire’s will;—and if I did you don’t suppose I should tell you.”
“I’m told that the next is Peter Morton,” said Fred Botsey. “He’s something in a public office up in London.”
“It won’t go to him,” said Fred’s brother. “That old lady has relations of her own who have had their mouths open for the last forty years.”
“Away from the Mortons altogether!” said Harry. “That would be an awful shame!”
“I don’t see what good the Mortons have done this last half century,” said the Captain.
“You don’t remember the old squire, Captain,” said the innkeeper, “and I don’t remember him well. Indeed I was only a little chap when they buried him. But there’s that feeling left behind him to this day, that not a poor man in the country wouldn’t be sorry to think that there wasn’t a Morton left among ’em. Of course a hunting gentleman is a good thing.”
“About the best thing out,” said the Captain.
“But a hunting gentleman isn’t everything. I know nothing of the old lady’s people—only this that none of their money ever came into Dillsborough. I’m all for Reginald Morton. He’s my landlord as it is, and he’s a gentleman.”
“I hate foreigners coming,” said Ribbs.
“ ’E ain’t too old to take it yet,” said Harry. Fred Botsey declared that he didn’t believe in men hunting unless they began young. Whereupon Dr. Nupper declared that he had never ridden over a fence till
