Gotobed,--a fat man with a round head, and a bullock's neck,
dressed in a black coat with breeches and top-boots. John Runce was
not a riding man. He was too heavy and short-winded;--too fond of
his beer and port wine; but he was a hunting man all over, one who
always had a fox in the springs at the bottom of his big meadows,
one to whom it was the very breath of his nostrils to shake hands
with the hunting gentry and to be known as a staunch friend to the
U.R.U. A man did not live in the county more respected than John
Runce, or who was better able to pay his way. To his thinking an
animal more injurious than Goarly to the best interests of
civilisation could not have been produced by all the evil
influences of the world combined. "Do you really think," said the
Senator calmly, "that a man should be hanged for killing a fox?"
John Runce, who was not very ready, turned round and stared at him.
"I haven't heard of any other harm that he has done, and perhaps he
had some provocation for that." Words were wanting to Mr. Runce,
but not indignation. He collected together his plate and knife and
fork and his two glasses and his lump of bread, and, looking the
Senator full in the face, slowly pushed back his chair and,
carrying his provisions with him, toddled off to the other end of
the room. When he reached a spot where place was made for him he
had hardly breath left to speak.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224