It is now past two, and it would puzzle him to say what
pleasure he has as yet had out of his day's amusement.
But now, while the flask is yet at his mouth, he hears from some
distant corner a sound that tells him that the fox is away. He
ought to have persevered, and then he would have been near them.
As it is, all that labour of riding has been in vain, and he has
before him the double task of finding the line of the hounds and
of catching them when he has found it. He has a crowd of men
around him; but he knows enough of hunting to be aware that the
men who are wrong at such moments are always more numerous than
they who are right. He has to choose for himself, and chooses
quickly, dashing down a ride to the right, while a host of those
who know that he is one of them who like it, follow closely at
his heels, too closely, as he finds at the first fence out of
the woods, when one of his young admirers almost jumps on the top
of him. " Do you want to get into my pocket, sir?" he says,
angrily. The young admirer is snubbed, and, turning away,
attempts to make a line for himself.
But though he has been followed, he has great doubt as to his own
course. To hesitate is to be lost, so he goes on, on rapidly,
looking as he clears every fence for the spot at which he is to
clear the next; but he is by no means certain of his course.
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