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Updated: May 23, 2025
"We may still have a run from Poulnaroe, if the gentleman chooses to come on," said a voice coming from behind with a sharp trot. It was Tom O'Conor. "Wherever the hounds go, I'll follow," said I. "Then come on to Poulnaroe," said Mr. O'Conor. I trotted on quickly by his side, and before we reached the cover had managed to slip in something about Sir P. C. "What the deuce!" said he.
"What! a friend of Sir P-'s? Why the deuce didn't you tell me so? What are you doing down here? Where are you staying?" &c. &c. &c. At Poulnaroe we found a fox, but before we did so Mr. O' Conor had asked me over to Castle Conor. And this he did in such a way that there was no possibility of refusing him or, I should rather say, of disobeying him.
"I advise you to look sharp after your money if you sell him to my brother," said Jack. And then we trotted slowly off to Castle Conor, which, however, was by no means near to us. "We have ten miles to go; good Irish miles," said the father. "I don't know that I ever remember a fox from Poulnaroe taking that line before." "He wasn't a Poulnaroe fox," said Peter.
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