"Oh, you have, have yer?--that was kind of you," says Tom; and turning to the Whip: "Charles, put those hounds to me; they might go and injure Mr. James's flower-beds." What the result of this speech, which of course raised a laugh, might have been it is hard to say, for at this moment out comes the Master and Mr. Betteridge, followed by the rest of the field. Mr. James takes off his hat with a low bow, and says: "Beg pardon, Sir John, I was a just saying to the Huntsman that we'd better try the Hosiers first. Bill knows of a fox there." "I hope he does this time, James," replies Sir John; "but I am going to draw the big wood, and then the Osiers." "Very good, Sir John; of course you knows best," remarks Mr. James, and then hurries off, thinking how deuced lucky it is that he had a bagman down on the chance. When they arrive at the bottom of the wood they find the great man standing at the gate full of importance, and with an air of self-satisfaction on his face. "I'm sure there's summut up, sir," says old Tom to Sir John, as the hounds dash into cover. "He'd never look so 'nation pleased if there was not some roguery in the wind. Eleu, in; eleu, at him; eugh, boys. Bagman, maybe. Eleu, try." A tally-ho from the far side before the hounds have opened on the line cuts him short, and with a "Danged if I don't think I'm right," the old Huntsman, blowing his horn, gallops down the ride to where the holloa was heard. The hounds do not settle on the line kindly, in fact, the old hounds will scarcely own it; however, they get along somehow for about a quarter of an hour, when poor bagman's race is run and they pull him down. "Who-whoop," yells Tom; "who-whoop, and if that don't make yer ashamed of yourself nothin' will; I know'd he were a bagman--dang the cheek of the man." Not a hound will touch him, not even the young entry, and Sir John is perfectly furious. "Mr. Betteridge," he says; as that worthy appears, quite innocent and highly delighted at there being a fox at all. "Mr. Betteridge, I came here at your request to draw your covers; I came here on your assurance that there were foxes; and you, sir, have the audacity to turn out a stinking bagman in front of my hounds." "My dear Sir John," replied the unfortunate man, "I never should dream of doing such a thing; my Keeper told me there were foxes; but I never would have turned out a bagman, I assure you. How can you tell it is a bag fox?" "I believe, Mr. Betteridge, you are innocent, and I apologise," says Sir John after a pause. "You ask me how I know. Look there at the hounds, they know well enough. Frankly, I tell you that unless you arrange matters with your Keeper James, who is the author of this, I will not draw your covers again, nor will I take your subscription to the hounds;" and then, turning to Tom, "try the Osiers, and if that's blank, trot off to Lappington."