Only those were spared that flew northward into
"Splatchett's." It was a veritable slaughter, planned with judgment,
and carried out in a most ungentlemanlike and unsportsmanlike manner.
It goaded Sir Charles beyond his patience. After several vain efforts
to restrain himself, he shouldered his gun, and, followed by his
friends, went bursting through the larches to Richard Bassett.
"Mr. Bassett," said he, "this is most ungentlernanly conduct."
"What is the matter, sir? Am I on your ground?"
"No, but you are taking a mean advantage of our being out. Who ever
heard of a gentleman beating his boundaries the very day a neighbor was
out shooting, and filling them with his game?"
"Oh, that is it, is it? When justice is against you you can talk of
law, and when law is against you you appeal to justice. Let us be in
one story or the other, please. The Huntercombe estates belong to me by
birth. You have got them by legal trickery. Keep them while you live.
_They will come to me one day, you know._ Meantime, leave me my little
estate of 'Splatchett's.' For shame, sir; you have robbed me of my
inheritance and my sweetheart; do you grudge me a few cock pheasants?
Why, you have made me so poor they are an object to me now."
"Oh!" said Sir Charles, "if you are stealing my game to keep body and
soul together, I pity you.
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