On the morning of a hunt he would always appear on a stout horse, clad in a long linen duster, a huge club in his hand, and his trousers working half-way up his legs.
He hunted everything on all possible occasions; and he never under any circumstances shot an animal that the dogs could kill.

Once when a skunk got into his house, with the direful stupidity of its perverse kind, he turned the hounds on it; a manifestation of sporting spirit which roused the ire of even his long-suffering wife.

As for his dogs, provided they could run and fight, he cared no more for their looks than for his own; he preferred the animal to be half greyhound, but the other half could be fox-hound, colley, or setter, it mattered nothing to him.

They were a wicked, hardbiting crew for all that, and Mr.Cowley, in his flapping linen duster, was a first-class hunter and a good rider.

He went almost mad with excitement in every chase.