“Oh! he is the aide-de-camp of General Dashwood. A nice fellow, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know what you may think,” said I, “but I take him for the most impertinent, impudent, supercilious”
The rest of my civil speech was cut short by the appearance of the very individual in question, who, with his hands in his packets, and a cigar in bis mouth, sauntered forth down the steps, taking no more notice of Matthew Blake and myself than of the two fox-terriers that followed at his heels.
However anxious I might be to open negotiations on the subject of my mission, for the present the thing was impossible, for I found that Sir George Dashwood was closeted closely with Mr. Blake; and resolved to wait till evening, when chance might afford me the opportunity I desired.
As the ladies had entered to dress for the hunt, and as I felt no peculiar desire to ally myself with the unsocial Captain, I accompanied Matthew to the stable to look after the cattle and make preparations for the coming sport.
“There’s Captain Hammersly’s horse,” said Matthew, as he pointed out a highly bred but powerful English hunter; “she came last night, for, as he expected some sport, he sent his horses from Dublin on purpose. The other will be here to-day.”
“What is his regiment?” said I, with an appearance of carelessness, but in reality feeling curious to know if the Captain was a cavalry or infantry officer.
“The th Light Dragoons,” said Matthew.
“You never saw him ride?” said I.
“Never; but his groom there says he leads the way in his own county.”
“And where may that be?”
“In Leicestershire, no less,” said Matthew.
“Does he know Galway?”
“Never was in it before; it’s only this minute he asked Mosey Daly if the ox-fences were high here.”
“Ox-fences! then he does not know what a wall is?”
“Devil a bit; but we’ll teach him.”
“That we will,” said I, with as bitter a resolution to impart the instruction as ever schoolmaster did to whip Latin grammar into one of the great unbreeched.
“But had better send the horses down to the Mill,” said Matthew; “we’ll draw that cover first.”
So saying, he turned towards the stable, while I sauntered alone towards the road by which I expected the huntsman, I had not walked half a mile before I heard the yelping of the dogs, and a little farther on I saw old Brackely coming along at a brisk trot, cutting the hounds on each side, calling after the stragglers.
“Did you see my horse on the road, Brackely?” said I.
“I did, Misther Charles, and troth I’m sorry to see him; sure yerself knows better than to take out the Badger, the best steeple-chaser in Ireland, in such a country as this—nothing but awkward stone-fences, and not a foot of sure ground in the whole of it.”
