At his appearance the men all began to shuffle to the passage and entrance-hall, to look for their hats and whips; and presently there was a great outpouring of red coats upon the lawn, all straddling and waddling of course.  Then Mr. Bragg, seeing an audience, with a slight whistle and wave of his right arm, wheeled his forces round, and trotted gaily towards where our guests had grouped themselves, within the light iron railing that separated the smooth slope from the field.  As he reined in his horse, he gave his cap an aerial sweep, taking off perpendicularly, and finishing at his horse’s ears—­an example that was immediately followed by the whips, and also by Mr. Bragg’s second horseman, Tom Stot.

’Good morning, Mister Bragg!  Good morning, Mister Bragg!—­Good morning, Mister Bragg!’ burst from the assembled spectators:  for Mr. Bragg was one of those people that one occasionally meets whom everybody ‘Misters.’  Mister Bragg, rising in his stirrups with a gracious smile, passed a very polite bow along the line.

‘Here’s a fine morning, Mr. Bragg,’ observed Tom Washball, who thought it knowing to talk to servants.

‘Y_as_, sir,’ replied Bragg, ‘y_as_,’ with a slight inclination to cap; ‘r-a-y-ther more s_a_n, p’raps, than desirable,’ continued he, raising his face towards the heavens; ’but still by no means a bad day, sir—­no, sir—­by no means a bad day, sir.’

‘Hounds looking well,’ observed Charley Slapp between the whiffs of a cigar.

‘Y_as_, sir,’ said Bragg, ‘y_as_,’ looking around them with a self-satisfied smile; adding, ’so they ought, sir—­so they ought; if I can’t bring a pack out as they should be, don’t know who can.’

‘Why, here’s our old Rummager, I declare!’ exclaimed Spraggon, who, having vaulted the iron hurdles, was now among the pack.  ’Why, here’s our old Rummager, I declare!’ repeated he, laying his whip on the head of a solemn-looking black and white hound, somewhat down in the toes, and looking as if he was about done.

‘Sc-e-e-use me, sir,’ replied Bragg, leaning over his horse’s shoulder, and whispering into Jack’s ear; ’sc-e-e-use me, sir, but drop that, sir, if you please, sir.’

‘Drop what?’ asked Jack, squinting through his great tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles up into Bragg’s face.

’’Bout knowing of that ‘ound, sir,’ whispered Bragg; ’the fact is, sir—­we call him Merryman, sir; master don’t know I got him from you, sir.’

‘O-o-o,’ replied Jack, squinting, if possible, more frightfully than before.

‘Ah, that’s the hound I offered to Scamperdale,’ observed Puffington, seeing the movement, and coming up to where Jack stood; ’that’s the hound I offered to Scamperdale,’ repeated he, taking the old dog’s head between his hands.  ‘There’s no better hound in the world than this,’ continued he, patting and smoothing him; ‘and no better bred hound either,’ added he, rubbing the dog’s sides with his whip.