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"And so, may be, do we," said Wainsby. "Fox-hunting 'll go on when your great-grandfather's your youngest son, farmer; or t' other way." "I reckon it'll be a stuffed fox your chil'ern 'll hunt, Mr. Steeve; more straw in 'em than bow'ls." "If the country," Stephen thumped the table, "were what you'd make of it, hang me if my name 'd long be Englishman!"
In her despair she encouraged Sedgett to visit her bar and parlour, and he became everywhere a most important man. By the help of Steeve Bilton, the Fairly huntsman, Sedgett was enabled to relate that there was a combination of the gentlemen against Robert, whose behaviour none could absolutely approve, save the landlady and jolly Butcher Billing, who stuck to him with a hearty blind faith.
"Where did ye kill, Steeve?" asked a dispirited voice. "We didn't kill at all: he was one of those "longshore dog-foxes, and got away home on the cliff." Stephen thumped his knee. "It's my belief the smell o' sea gives 'em extra cunning." "The beggar seems to have put ye out rether eh, Steeve?"
In the evening, Stephen Bilton, the huntsman, presented himself at the door of the long parlour of the Pilot, and loud cheers were his greeting from a full company. "Gentlemen all," said Stephen, with dapper modesty; and acted as if no excitement were current, and he had nothing to tell. "Well, Steeve?" said one, to encourage him. "How about Bob, to-day?" said another.
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