I ought to have mentioned that COODENT--of
course, you remember Captain COODENT, R.N.--was of the party. Ever
since he had found his legs so much admired by an appreciative public,
he had worn a kilt without stockings, in order to show them. This,
however, was not done from vanity, I think, but rather from a high
sense of duty, for he felt that those who happened to be born with
personal advantages ought not to be deterred by any sense of false
modesty from gratifying the reading public by their display. Lord, how
we had laughed to see him struggling through the clinging brambles
in Sir HENRY's coverts with his eye-glass in his eye and his Express
at the trail. At every step his unfortunate legs had been more and
more torn, until there was literally not a scrap of sound skin upon
them anywhere. Even the beaters, a stolid lot, had roared when old
VELVETEENS the second keeper had brought up to poor COODENT a lump of
flesh from his right leg, which he had found sticking on a thorn-bush
in the centre of the high covert. Suddenly Sir HENRY stopped and
shaded his eyes with his hand anxiously.
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