When I get among my own people in
Mickewa and tell them that, they won't believe me, sir."
In the meantime the cavalcade was hurrying away to Impington
Gorse, and John Morton, feeling that he had not had an opportunity
as yet of showing his American friend the best side of hunting,
went with them. The five miles were five long miles, and as the
pace was not above seven miles an hour, nearly an hour was
occupied. There was therefore plenty of opportunity for the Senator
to inquire whether the gentlemen around him were as yet enjoying
their sport. There was an air of triumph about him as to the
misfortunes of the day, joined to a battery of continued raillery,
which made it almost impossible for Morton to keep his temper. He
asked whether it was not at any rate better than trotting a pair of
horses backwards and forwards over the same mile of road for half
the day, as is the custom in the States. But the Senator, though he
did not quite approve of trotting matches, argued that there was
infinitely more of skill and ingenuity in the American pastime.
"Everybody is so gloomy," said the Senator, lighting his third
cigar. "I've been watching that young man in pink boots for the
last half hour, and he hasn't spoken a word to any one."
"Perhaps he's a stranger," said Morton.
"And that's the way you treat him!"
It was past two when the hounds were put into the gorse, and
certainly no one was in a very good humour.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109