"How can there be pheasants to that amount in Dillsborough Wood,"
continued the landlord, "when everybody knows that foxes breed
there every year? There isn't a surer find for a fox in the whole
county. Everybody knows that Lord Rufford never lets his game stand
in the way of foxes."

Lord Rufford was Mr. Runciman's great friend and patron and best
customer, and not a word against Lord Rufford was allowed in that
room, though elsewhere in Dillsborough ill-natured things were
sometimes said of his lordship. Then there came on that well-worn
dispute among sportsmen, whether foxes and pheasants are or are not
pleasant companions to each other. Every one was agreed that, if
not, then the pheasants should suffer, and that any country
gentleman who allowed his gamekeeper to entrench on the privileges
of foxes in order that pheasants might be more abundant, was a
"brute" and a "beast," and altogether unworthy to live in England.
Larry Twentyman and Ned Botsey expressed an opinion that pheasants
were predominant in Dillsborough Wood, while Mr. Runciman, the
doctor, and Harry Stubbings declared loudly that everything that
foxes could desire was done for them in that Elysium of sport.

"We drew the wood blank last time we were there," said Larry.
"Don't you remember, Mr. Runciman, about the end of last March?"

"Of course I remember," said the landlord. "Just the end of the
season, when two vixens had litters in the wood! You don't suppose
Bean was going to let that old butcher, Tony, find a fox in
Dillsborough at that time." Bean was his lordship's head gamekeeper
in that part of the country. "How many foxes had we found there