accompanied through a shrubbery on to a lawn, where a white-whiskered
old gentleman with a cleek was alternately putting and blaspheming
vigorously.

"Are you Colonel Dabney?" McTurk began in this new creaking voice of
his.

"I--I am, and--" his eyes traveled up and down the boy--"who--what the
devil d'you want? Ye've been disturbing my pheasants. Don't attempt
to deny it. Ye needn't laugh at it." (McTurk's not too lovely
features had twisted them. selves into a horrible sneer at the word
pheasant.) "You've been birds'-nesting. You needn't hide your hat. I
can see that you belong to the College. Don't attempt to deny it. Ye
do! Your name and number at once, sir. Ye want to speak to me--Eh?
You saw my notice-boards? Must have. Don't attempt to deny it. Ye
did! Damnable, oh damnable!"

He choked with emotion. McTurk's heel tapped the lawn and he stuttered
a little--two sure signs that he was losing his temper. But why
should he, the offender, be angry?

"Lo-look here, sir. Do--do you shoot foxes? Because, if you don't,
your keeper does. We've seen him! I do-don't care what you call
us--but it's an awful thing. It's the ruin of good feelin' among
neighbors. A ma-man ought to say once and for all how he stands about
preservin'. It's worse than murder, because there's no legal remedy."
McTurk was quoting confusedly from his father, while the old gentleman
made noises in his throat.

"Do you know who I am?" he gurgled at last; Stalky and Beetle