"
"He had to pay well for him, though. Fifty moidores was the least his
owner would take for him."
"I sincerely trust that Warren will get fifty moidores' worth of sport
out of him."
"He went out yesterday to try him," continued Meynell, "but Hatton,
who was with him, got such a fall (he is a villainous rider, without
knowing it), that they had great trouble in getting him back here, and
it broke up the day's sport."
"Is he much hurt?" asked L'Isle.
"No permanent injury. But he fell on his head, and, at first, they
thought the time come for firing blank-cartridges over him."
"I trust, if Hatton is bent on dying in the field, he will choose some
occasion when they do not fire blank-cartridges."
As his colonel seemed little interested in his sporting intelligence,
the adjutant turned to a topic that looked a little more like
business. "I see that Commissary Shortridge has got back."
"Ah!" said L'Isle, suppressing a yawn, "where has he been?"
"He has been to Lisbon."
"What carried him there?" mechanically asked the colonel, evidently
not caring to know.
"Business of the commissariat, he says."
"So I suppose," said L'Isle, carelessly.
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