'D'you suppose I'm thinkin' of us. It's the keeper.'
'He's cracked,' said Beetle miserably, as they followed. Indeed, this was a new Turkey a haughty, angular, nose-lifted Turkey whom they 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?' M'Turk began in this new creaking voice of his.
'I—I am, and'—his eyes travelled 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. [M'Turk's not too lovely features had twisted themselves into a horrible sneer at the word 'pheasant.'] You've been bird's-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. M'Turk'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 neighbours. A ma-man ought to say once
