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Scoutbush is standing with Trebooze beyond the bar, upon a little lawn set thick with alders. Trebooze is fussing and fidgetting about, wiping his forehead perpetually; telling everybody to get out of the way, and not to interfere; then catching hold of Scoutbush's button to chatter in his face; then, starting aside to put some part of his dress to rights.
Tom caught the arm, thrust his hand up the sleeve, and seemed to snatch out the snake, and hurl it back into the river. "All right now! a near chance, though!" Peter stood open mouthed. "I never saw no snake!" cried he. Tom caught him a buffet which sent him reeling. "Look after your hounds, you blind ass! How are you now, Trebooze?" And he caught the squire round the waist, for he was reeling.
The hounds are all round him, and he is couraging them on, fussing again more than ever; but without success. "Gone to hole somewhere here," says Peter. "....!" cries Trebooze, looking round, with a sudden shudder, and face of terror. "There's that black brute again! there, behind me! Hang it, he'll bite me next!" and he caught up his leg, and struck behind him with his spear.
However, Trebooze departed in high spirits; for Lord Scoutbush has deigned to say that he will be delighted to see the otter-hounds work any morning that Trebooze likes, and anyhow no time too early for him. "He will bring his friend Major Campbell?" "By all means." "Expect two or three sporting gentlemen from the neighbourhood, too.
Trebooze has been sorely exercised, during the last fortnight, between fear of the cholera and desire of calling upon Lord Scoutbush "as I ought to do, of course, as one of the gentry round; he's a Whig, of course, and no more to me than anybody else; but one don't like to let politics interfere;" by which Trebooze glosses over to himself and friends the deep Hunkeydom with which he lusteth after a live lord's acquaintance, and one especially in whom he hopes to find even such a one as himself.... "Good fellow, I hear he is, too, good sportsman, smokes like a chimney," and so forth.
Regular good ones, my lord though they are county bucks very much honoured to make your lordship's acquaintance." Scoutbush expresses himself equally honoured by making their acquaintance, in a tone of bland simplicity, which utterly puzzles Trebooze, who goes a step further. "Your lordship'll honour us by taking pot luck afterwards.
Trebooze dashed at the house-door, tore it open; slammed and bolted it behind him, to shut out the pursuing fiends. "Quick, round by the back-door!" said Tom, who had not opposed him for fear of making him furious, but dreaded some tragedy if he were left alone. But his fear was needless. Trebooze looked into the breakfast-room. It was empty; she was not out of bed yet.
"As you like," says Trebooze, sulkily, having meant it as a token of reconciliation, and pushes on. They are now upon a little open meadow, girdled by green walls of wood; and along the river-bank the hounds are fairly racing. Tom and Peter hold on; Trebooze slackens. "Your master don't look right this morning, Peter."
Peter looked at Tom, and then wrung his hands in despair. "Dirty work beastly work!" muttered Trebooze. "Nothing but slugs and evats! Toads, too, hang the toads! What a plague brings all this vermin? Curse it!" shrieked he, springing back, "there's an adder! and he's gone up my sleeve! Help me! Doctor! Thurnall! or I'm a dead man!"
Can't show you French cookery, you know, and your souffleys and glacys, and all that. Honest saddle o' mutton, and the grounds of old port. My father laid it down, and I take it up, eh?" And Trebooze gave a wink and a nudge of his elbow, meaning to be witty.
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