The American Senator

go to Impington on this day, and he was still, in his mind, saying evil things of the U.R.U. respecting that poisoned fox. Perhaps he was thinking, as itinerant masters often must think, that it was very hard to have to bear so many unpleasant things for a poor £2,000 a year, and meditating, as he had done for the last two seasons, a threat that unless the money were increased, he wouldn’t hunt the country more than three times a week. As Tony got near to the gorse and also near to the road he managed with infinite skill to get the hounds off the scent, and to make a fictitious cast to the left as though he thought the fox had traversed that way. Tony knew well enough that the fox was at that moment in Littleton Gorse;⁠—but he knew also that the gorse was only six acres, that such a fox as he had before him wouldn’t stay there two minutes after the first hound was in it, and that Dillsborough Wood⁠—which to his imagination was full of poison⁠—would then be only a mile and a half before him. Tony, whose fault was a tendency to mystery⁠—as is the fault of most huntsmen⁠—having accomplished his object in stopping the hounds, pretended to cast about with great diligence. He crossed the road and was down one side of a field and along another, looking anxiously for the Captain. “The fox has gone on to the gorse,” said the elder Botsey; “what a stupid old pig he is;”⁠—meaning that Tony Tuppett was the pig.

“He was seen going on,” said Larry, who had come across a man mending a drain.

“It would be his run of course,” said Hampton, who was generally up to Tony’s wiles, but who was now as much in the dark as others. Then four or five rode up to the huntsman and told him that the fox had been seen heading for the gorse. Tony said not a word but bit his lips and scratched his head and bethought himself what fools men might be even though they did ride well to hounds. One word of explanation would have settled it all, but he would not speak that word till he whispered it to Captain Glomax.

In the meantime there was a crowd in the road waiting to see the result of Tony’s manoeuvres. And then, as is usual on such occasions, a little mild repartee went about⁠—what the sportsmen themselves would have called “chaff.” Ned Botsey came up, not having broken his horse’s back as had been rumoured, but having had to drag the brute out of the brook with the help of two countrymen, and the Major was asked about his fall till he was forced to open his mouth. “Double ditch;⁠—mare fell;⁠—matter of course.” And then he got himself out of the crowd, disgusted with the littleness of mankind. Lord Rufford had been riding a very big chestnut horse, and had watched the anxious struggles of Kate Masters to hold her place. Kate, though fifteen, and quite up to that age in intelligence and impudence, was small and looked almost a child. “That’s a nice pony of yours, my dear,” said the Lord. Kate, who didn’t quite like being called “my dear,” but who knew that a lord has privileges, said that it was a very good pony. “Suppose we change,” said his lordship. “Could you ride my horse?” “He’s very big,” said Kate. “You’d look like a tomtit on a haystack,” said his lordship. “And if you got on my pony, you’d look like a haystack on a tomtit,” said Kate. Then it was felt that Kate Masters had had the best of that little encounter. “Yes;⁠—I got one there,” said Lord Rufford, while his friends were laughing at him.

At length Captain Glomax was seen in the road and Tony was with him at once, whispering in his ear that the hounds if allowed to go on would certainly run into Dillsborough Wood. “D⁠⸺ the hounds,” muttered the Captain; but he knew too well what he was about to face⁠—so terrible a danger. “They’re going home,” he said as soon as he had joined Lord Rufford and the crowd.

“Going home!” exclaimed a pink-coated young rider of a hired horse which had been going well with him; and as he said so he looked at his watch.

“Unless you particularly wish me to take the hounds to some covert twenty miles off,” answered the sarcastic Master.

“The fox certainly went on to Littleton,” said the elder Botsey.

“My dear fellow,” said the Captain, “I can tell you where the fox went quite as well as you can tell me. Do allow a man to know what he’s about some times.”

“It isn’t generally the custom here to take the hounds off a running fox,” continued Botsey, who subscribed £50, and did not like being snubbed.

“And it isn’t generally the custom to have fox-coverts poisoned,” said the Captain, assuming to himself the credit due to Tony’s sagacity. “If you wish to be Master of these hounds I haven’t the slightest objection, but while I’m responsible you must allow me to do my work according to my own judgment.” Then the thing was understood and Captain Glomax was allowed to carry off the hounds and his ill-humour without another word.

But just at that moment, while the hounds and the master, and Lord Rufford and his friends, were turning back in their own direction, John Morton came up with his carriage and the Senator. “Is it all over?” asked the Senator.

“All over for today,” said Lord Rufford.

“Did you catch the animal?”

“No, Mr. Gotobed; we couldn’t catch him. To tell the truth we didn’t try; but we had a nice little skurry for four or five miles.”

“Some of you look very wet.” Captain Glomax and Ned Botsey were standing near the carriage; but the Captain as soon as he heard this, broke into a trot and followed the hounds.

“Some of us