a cat--being doomed to receive the first crack on this occasion, our
sportsmen stole gently down the fallow, at the bottom of which were the
turnips, wherein he was said to repose; but scarcely had they reached
the hurdles which divided the field, before he was seen legging it away
clean out of shot. Jorrocks, who had brought his gun to bear upon him,
could scarcely refrain from letting drive, but thinking to come upon him
again by stealth, as he made his circuit for Norwood, he strode away
across the allotments and Fordham estate, and took up a position behind
a shed which stood on the confines of Mr. Timms's and Mr. Cheatum's
properties. Here, having procured a rest for his gun, he waited until
old Tom, who had tarried to nip a few blades of green grass that came
in his way, made his appearance. Presently he came cantering along the
outside of the wood, at a careless, easy sort of pace, betokening either
perfect indifference for the world's mischief, or utter contempt of
cockney sportsmen altogether.

He was a melancholy, woe-begone-looking animal, long and lean, with a
slight inclination to grey on his dingy old coat, one that looked as
though he had survived his kindred and had already lived beyond his day.
Jorrocks, however, saw him differently, and his eyes glistened as
he came within range of his gun. A well-timed shot ends poor Tom's
miseries! He springs into the air, and with a melancholy scream rolls
neck over heels. Knowing that Pompey would infallibly spoil him if he
got up first, Jorrocks, without waiting to load, was in the act of
starting off to pick him up, when, at the first step, he found himself
in the grasp of a Herculean monster, something between a coal-heaver and
a gamekeeper, who had been secreted behind the shed. Nosey Browne, who
had been watching his movements, holloaed out to Jorrocks to "hold
hard," who stood motionless, on the spot from whence he fired, and
Browne was speedily alongside of him. "You are on Squire Cheatum's