Two minutes’ rest followed, and then the ball was put in again. The face of Stephen Fenton was dark with anger, and he played as if possessed by a fiend. But all his work was vain, for Springbrook made three goals in the last half, and the game closed with a complete whitewash for Meadowfair. CHAPTER XXVI—BEFORE THE HUNT “I believe there will be a frost to-morrow morning,” declared Kenneth St. Ives, as the boys were gathered in the summerhouse that evening. “It has turned very cold within an hour, and there is not a breath of wind. If there is a frost look out for sport.” “What sort of sport?” eagerly asked Harry Rattleton. “Something we can all take part in?” “Sure.” “Name it.” “Fox hunt.” “Jupiter! That will be great.” “We’ve got as fine a pack of hounds as can be found in this part of the country, although it is not a large pack,” said Kenneth; “and we have the foxes. Every one of you fellows who can ride may take part in the hunt.” “I’m pretty sure I shall have another chill to-morrow.” mumbled Browning. “I wouldn’t dare start out on a hunt.” “Rats!” cried Rattleton. “The trouble with you is——” “Let Browning stay behind and take things easy,” said Hodge, quickly. “The rest of us can go. For real sport, give me a fox hunt.” “Yaw!” nodded Hans; “dot peen der sbort vor you, hoch. I peen britty coot at dot.” “Hev yeou got guns for ther hull on us?” asked Ephraim. “Guns?” cried Kenneth, astonished. “Yeh.” “What do you want of guns?” “Why, to shoot the gol darn fox with, of course!” “But what do you want to shoot him for?” “Hey!” gasped the astonished Vermonter. “Haow be yeou goin’ to hunt him if yeou don’t shoot him?” “Why, we hunt foxes on horses, and let the dogs run them down.” “An’ don’t do nary bit of shootin’?” “No.” “Wal, that’s what I call a mighty slim sort of a hunt,” declared Gallup, in disgust. “Yeou oughter see Win Page hunt foxes daown hum. Give that feller one dorg an’ a good gun, and he’ll go out ’most any mornin’ an’ gather in two or three of the critters afore breakfast. He keeps the door of his barn all nailed over with fox skins, an’ skunk skins, an’ muskrats, an’ he kin set araound the grocery store an’ tell huntin’ stories fer a week at a time ’thout stoppin’ to eat ur ketch his breath.” “It is evident that Mr. Page hunts foxes in a different way and for a different purpose than we do,” smiled Kenneth. Then Frank briefly explained to Ephraim the style of hunting foxes on horseback for sport, but Gallup did not seem to think there could be much sport in it that way. “I’m sorry father had to fire Wade, the head hostler, to-night,” said St. Ives. “Had to fire him?” questioned Frank. “What for?” “He was drunk and insolent. But he knows more about taking charge of a stable than any man I ever saw, and he kept our hunters in fine condition. He has been drinking too much lately, however, and he was getting intolerable. By the way, Merriwell, you had better look out for him.” “Why—how is that?”