"It's a good-sized house;"--said the owner; "nothing very
particular, as houses are built now-a-days."
"Damp; I should say?"
"I think not. I have never lived here much myself; but I have not
heard that it is considered so."
"I guess it's damp. Very lonely;--isn't it?"
"We like to have our society inside, among ourselves, in the
country."
"Keep a sort of hotel-like?" suggested Mr. Gotobed. "Well, I don't
dislike hotel life, especially when there are no charges. How many
servants do you want to keep up such a house as that?"
Mr. Morton explained that at present he knew very little about it
himself, then led him away by the path over the bridge, and turning
to the left showed him the building which had once been the kennels
of the Rufford hounds, "All that for dogs!" exclaimed Mr. Gotobed.
"All for dogs," said Morton. "Hounds, we generally call them."
"Hounds are they? Well; I'll remember; though 'dogs' seems to me
more civil. How many used there to be?"
"About fifty couple, I think."
"A hundred dogs! No wonder your country gentlemen burst up so
often. Wouldn't half-a-dozen do as well,--except for the show of
the thing?"
"Half-a-dozen hounds couldn't hunt a fox, Mr. Gotobed."
"I guess half-a-dozen would do just as well, only for the show.
What strikes me, Mr. Morton, on visiting this old country is that
so much is done for show.
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