“Oh, Mr. Easylease it’s you, sir, is it? Hope you’re well, sir,” with a sort of move of his hat—not a take off, nor yet a keep on—“hope Mrs. Easylease is quite well, and the young ladies.” “Quite well, thank you; hope Mrs. G.‘s the same. What sport have you had?” added the Commissioner, without waiting for an answer to the inquiry about the ladies. “Sport!” repeated Gameboy, drawing his breath, as he conned the matter hastily over. “Sport!” recollecting he was as good as addressing the Earl himself—master of hounds—favours past—hopes for future, and so on. “Well,” said he, seeing his line; “We’ve had a nice-ish run—a fair-ish day—five and twenty minutes, or so.” “Fast?” asked Mr. Easylease, twirling his gig-whip about, for he was going to Tantivy Castle in the morning, and thought he might as well have something to talk about beside the weather. “Middlin’—nothin’ partieklar,” replied Green, with a chuck of the chin. “Kill?” asked the Commissioner, continuing the laconics. “Don’t know,” replied the naughty Green, who knew full well they had; for he had seen them run into their fox as he stood on Dinglebank Hill; and, moreover, had ridden part of the way home with Tommy Heslop, who had a pad. “Why, you’ve been down!” exclaimed the Commissioner, starting round at the unwonted announcement of Gameboy Green, the best man of their hunt, not knowing if they had killed. “Down, aye,” repeated Gameboy, looking at his soiled side, which looked as if he had been at a sculptor’s, having a mud cast taken of himself. “I’m indebted to the nasty little jealous Damper for that.” “The Damper!” exclaimed the Commissioner, knowing how the Earl hated him. “The Damper! that little rascally draper’s always doing something wrong. How did he manage it?” “Just charged me as I was taking a fence,” replied Green, “and knocked me clean over.” “What a shame!” exclaimed the Commissioner, driving on. “What a shame,” repeated he, whipping his horse into a trot. And as he proceeded, he presently fell in with Dr. Pillerton, to whom he related how infamously the Hit-im and Hold-im shire chaps had used poor Green, breaking three of his ribs, and nearly knocking his eye out. And Dr. Pillerton, ever anxious, &c., told D’Orsay Davis, the great we of the Featherbedfordshire Gazette, who forthwith penned such an article on fox-hunting Jealousy, generally, and Hit-im and Hold-im shire Jealousy in particular, as caused Sir Moses to declare he’d horsewhip him the first time he caught him,—“dom’d if he wouldn’t.” CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE SICK HORSE AND THE SICK MASTER. 288m _Original Size_